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^^.^ ^:^ .^^^15 



MEMOIRS 




Anne C'^'L. Botta 



WRITTEN BY HER FRIENDS 

WITH SELECTIONS FROM HER 

CORRESPONDENCE AND FROM HER 

WRITINGS IN PROSE AND POETRY 



Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare 
La donna mia ! 



N 



^TM 



NEW-YORK 
J. SELWIN TAIT & SONS 

PUBLISHERS 

31 EAST 17TH STREET 
MDCCCXCIV 




rno*^ 



Copyriglit. k^^o-,, b\ \ . BorvA. 






TO MR. CHARLES BUTLER 

THESE MEMOIRS ARE DEDICATED AS 

A SOUVENIR OF FOUR DECADES 

OF FRIENDSHIP, LOYALTY 

AND DEVOTION 



1In flDemorlam 

NaTA die UNDECIMA NoVEMBRIS, MdCCCXV ^ 
ObIIT die VIGESIMA TERTIA MaRTII, MdCCCXCI 



flntrobuctor^ 1Rote 

These recoUedions of the late Mrs. Botta are intended 
for readers who take interest in the literary movement of 
the age, and particularly for those who, during her life- 
time, were acquainted with her, and enjoyed the attrac- 
tion of her sympathy and the sweetness of her friendship. 
They are chiefly composed of essays on her life and char- 
acter , which, under the forms of letters, reminiscences, 
characteristics, impressions, and tributes to her memory, 
were written at the editor's request, by some of her 
most intimate and devoted friends. As a series of 
pen-portraits these writings reproduce to nature the 
beautiful personality which their authors endeavored to 
portray and revive. 

The volume cannot be classified among biographies 
of the regular standard ; yet it answers to the principal 
requirements of biographical treatment, and properly 
belongs to that branch of literature which, under the 
name of' ' Memoirs," has become so popular in our times. 

The book opens with a biographical sketch in which 
the principal events of Mrs. Botta s life are recorded. 
This is followed by memories developing the same sub- 
je3 from the time she entered the Albany Female 
Academy to the last days of her life. Some con- 
tributions present an accurate psychological analysis 



flntroDuctorg IRote 

of her character ; some treat in a general way of her 
relation for the last fifty years to the historical evolu- 
tiojt of the intellediial and social elements in American 
civilisation. Then her poetic, literary, and artistic 
merits are considered, while here and there a brilliant 
light appears on her spiritual nature, on her moral 
qualities, and on the many graces with which she was so 
liberally endowed. 

" E pluribus umim " should be inscribed on this vol- 
ume; for, though written by several hands, the unity 
of the conception is not in any way marred by the 
variety of the execution, — no more so than a number of 
paintings of the same landscape taken from different 
points of view can detra^l from the unity of its general 
appearance. Indeed, the diversities in color, in light 
and shade, and in the perspectives aid the Spectator in 
forming a more comprehensive and more attractive con- 
ception of the whole scenery. 

To the authors of these beautiful offerings the editor 
presents his cordial thanks for the generous and kind 
devotion with which they responded to his request, thus 
expressing their affedionate loyalty to the memory of 
their departed friend. 

To these contributions, sele^ions from her letters are 
added. During her long and active life her corre- 
spondence was very extensive and varied; but, unfor- 
tunately, she seldom kept copies of her letters. Of 
those which have been collected, many are entirely of a 
private character; therefore only a few are introduced, 
as particularly expressing her personal sentiments and 
ideas. 

viii 



■ffntroDuctorg fflote 

Letters written to her by distinguished people may be of 
special interest to the readers . Accordingly some of these 
have been culled from this part of her correspondence, 
limiting them, however, to letters written by friends 
who have already passed away. For obvious reasons, 
those of surviving correspondents are excluded. The 
volume closes with some of her writings, in prose and 
poetry, most of them inedited. 

This introductory note may be appropriately con- 
cluded with the closing lines from her " Battle of 
Life " : 

The guardian angels are hovering near ; 

They have watched unseen o'er the confli£l here, 

And thejy hear her now, on their wings awaj; 

To a realm of peace, — to a cloudless day. 

Ended now is the earthly %trife, 

And her brow is crowned with the Crown of Life. 

y. BOTTA. 



ln^c]c 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE 



PAGE 

vii 



RECOLLECTIONS BY HER FRIENDS 

Biographical Notes, bj' Mrs, S. M. C. Ewer . . \ 

Early Recollections, by Mr. Heitrj IV. Sage . 35 

A Loving Tribute, bj' Grace Greenwood . . . 40 

Sweet Memories, bj Mrs. Cornelia G. IViliis . . 48 

Early Days, bj Richard S. IViUis . . . • 51 

Her Personal Traits, by Parke Godwin . . 55 
A Laurel Wreath, by Julia Ward Howe ... 58 

Recollections, by Hon. Andrew D. White . . 60 

A Letter of Condolence, by James A. Fronde . . 68 

Her Personality, by Moncure D. Conway . . 70 

Sympathy, by Justin McCarthy, M. P. . . .73 

A Tribute, by Wm. R. Alger .... 75 

Impressions, by Charles Dudley Warner . . . 84 

A Beautiful Life, by Mrs. L. G. Runkle . . 87 

An Ideal Woman, by Edmund C. Stedman . . 92 

One of the Fine Souls, by Miss Juliet Goodwin . 94 

A Tribute, by Mrs. A. H. Leonowens . . -97 

A Few Words of Love, by Mary Mapes Dodge . 130 

Reminiscences, by Hon. Charles A. Peabody . • '3' 
A Noble Woman, by Kate Field .... 140 

An Expression of Love, by Mrs. Maria Wallace . . 145 

Recollections, by Mrs. Julia C. Keightly . . 147 

A Perfect Woman, by Dr. Wallace Wood . . .158 

Characteristics, by Andrew Carnegie . . . 164 
xi 



1In5ej 

PAGE 

Her Hospitality, bj> Kate Sanborn . . . .170 
Her Salon, hj> A.J. Bloor . . . . . 181 
Her Perennial Youth, bj' A Friend . . . .192 
Impressions, by Professor L. J. B. Lincoln . . 195 
A Word about Her Poems, bjy Richard IV. Gilder . 198 
Her Poetical Character, bj> Edith M. Thomas . 199 
Her Artistic Character, by F. Edwin Elwell . . 207 
An Album and the French Academy, bj' Hon. John Bigelow 2 i i 
A Paper, by Mrs. Katberine L. Yoiimans . . . 224 
Resolutions of THE "Wednesday Afternoon Club" . 230 



SELECTIONS FROM HER LETTERS 



To Miss Anna Platt 


. . . - 237 


Henry Giles 


239 


N. P. Willis .... 


. 241 


Louis Kossuth 


243 


Mr. Charles Butler . . . 


. 244 


Miss S. A 


267 


Mr. F. S 


. 271 


Mrs. M. L. ... 


272 


Miss Emily 0. Butler 


• 273 


Dr. H. W. Bellows . 


276 


Mr. Botta .... 


. 279 


Miss N. W. ... 


. . . 285 


Hon. L. M. . 


. 286 


Hon. Andrew Dickson White 


288 


Mr. J.M 


. 295 


Ralph W. Emerson 


296 


James A. Froude 


. 298 


Miss A. . . . . 


306 


Mrs. B. C 


. 307 


Mlle. Clarisse Bader . 


307 


Mrs. Stebbins -Thompson . 


. 308 


Hon. John Bigelow 


310 


Mrs. a. H. Leonowens 


. 311 



■fftiDej 



SELECTIONS FROM LETTERS TO HER 



From Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney 


• 3'7 


Mrs. Lydia M. Child ... 


. 318 


Mrs. Butler (Fanny Kemble) . 


. . 318 


N. P. Willis 


320 


Frederika Bremer .... 


• 323 


Henry Giles 


. . 328 


Henry Clay ..... 


• 33' 


Letters relating to the Clay Medal 


333 


Daniel Webster .... 


. . . 336 


George D. Prentice .... 


337 


George Wood ("Peter Schmid") 


• • 338 


Hon. J. Macpherson Berrien 


339 


Gov. Thomas H. Seymour 


■ 340 


R. W. Emerson .... 


341 


Dr. H. W. Bellows . . . . 


• 342 


Amos Dean ..... 


344 


Charles L. Brace .... 


• 345 


Charles O'Conor .... 


346 


Samuel Ruggles .... 


. 346 


George Ticknor .... 


347 


Fitz-Greene Halleck 


• 347 



SELECTIONS FROM HER WRITINGS 



Prose 

Leaves from the Diary of a Recluse 
Notes on History 

Notes on Poetry .... 
Notes on American Civilization . 
A Journey to Niagara Falls 
Newport, R. L, Forty Years Ago 
Washington City Forty Years Ago 



353 
374 

370 

383 
398 
408 
417 



IFnDej 

Indian Summer ....... 440 

The Unknown Builder of the Cathedral of Cologne 440 

To Captain West, of the Steamer "Atlantic" . 441 

Lines to ....... 442 

Springtime ........ 442 

To George Peabody, the American Philanthropist 443 

To Lamartine ....... 443 

To Fitz-Greene Halleck . „ . . . 444 

To Peter Cooper ....... 445 

Nightfall in Hungaria ..... 445 

To Charles Butler ...... 448 

To THE same ....... 448 

Liberty to Ireland ...... 449 

To Emma ........ 450 

To Anna . . ., . . . . •45' 

To Nettie . . . . . . .451 

On receiving a Picture of an Italian Countess . 452 

To Juliette ON her Wedding-day . . . 453 

To Juliette's Twins ...... 453 

To Edith M. Thomas ..... 454 

The Brides of Indra . . . . -455 

Viva Italia ! . . . ... 459 



1RccoUection0 b^ ber jfrlcnbe 




Bioorapbical IRotcs 

By Mrs. S. M. C. Ewer, New-York. 



My dear Mr. Botta: 

^N answer to your letter requesting me to 

write down my recollections of the late Mrs. 

Botta, whose death we all greatly deplore, I 
will say that I feel it to be a duty of love and grati- 
tude to comply with your wishes. Perhaps I was 
more intimately connected with her in the early days 
than any other pupil of hers ; and her influence on 
my character was the strongest influence of my 
youth. Her assistance through some of the rugged 
and intricate paths of my life I shall never forget, 
and her sweet image will forever stand before me 
as that of one of my best friends and benefactors. 
Patrick Lynch, the father of Mrs. Botta, was born 
in Lucan, near Dublin, Ireland. While a student of 
civil engineering in the Dublin University, he took 
part in the Irish Rebellion of 1798. For this of- 
fense he was imprisoned for some years ; then he 
was offered freedom on condition that he would 
take the oath of allegiance to the British crown. 
Refusing to do this, he was banished from his 



Bnnc C. X. JBotta 

country at the early age of eighteen. He sailed 
to America with other patriots, prominent among 
them Thomas Addis Emmet, the eminent phy- 
sician. Thomas Moore was also his friend ; and 
when the Irish poet came to this country, Mr. Lynch 
traveled with him. One summer day, while they 
were resting under a tree, the poet improvised one 
of his ballads, which his companion wrote under 
his dictation. Later, Mr. Lynch went to Benning- 
ton, Vermont, and with a partner engaged in the 
dry-goods business. It is said that soon after the 
two men opened their store, two young ladies 
went in to make some purchases ; after they left, the 
partner asked Mr. Lynch which one he liked best. 
He answered, "I saw only one." This one was 
Charlotte Gray, the daughter of Lieutenant-Colonel 
Ebenezer Gray, of the Connecticut line, who, under 
the commission of General Washington, had served 
through the Revolutionary War. Mr. Lynch im- 
mediately made the acquaintance of Miss Gray, and 
in the year 1812 they were married. They lived 
in Bennington some years, and had two children 
born there, — Thomas Rawson and Anne Charlotte ; 
Anne was born November 11, 1815. They re- 
moved from there to Pennsylvania ; and later to 
Windham, Connecticut. Leaving his family here, 
Mr. Lynch soon after went to Cuba to secure some 
lands which the Spanish government offered to Irish 
refugees. He arrived in Havana ; but, in 18 19, while 
going from there to Puerto Principe, where these 
lands were situated, he suddenly died at sea, leav- 



JBlograpblcal IRotcs 

ing Mrs. Lynch with two young children, — Thomas, 
six years, and Anne, nearly four years, of age. 

From my impressions gathered in conversations 
with the mother of your wife, Mr. Lynch was a 
gentleman of distinguished appearance, refined and 
elegant in manner, and a conversationist of more 
than ordinary culture. His letters to his wife are 
beautiful with expressions of love and sympathy for 
her and the children. He left some writings, of 
which "A Manual of Maxims " for guidance through 
life is full of practical wisdom, showing a keen in- 
sight into human character. He was an excellent 
draftsman. While in prison he delineated with his 
pen miniature maps, in color, of the several coun- 
ties in Ireland, which are remarkable for their ac- 
curacy as well as fine execution. These maps are 
accompanied by an historical sketch of all the re- 
bellions which had taken place in these counties for 
centuries, and the cruel reprisals inflicted on the peo- 
ple by the British power. 

Soon after the death of her husband, Mrs. Lynch, 
with her two children, removed to Hartford, Conn., 
where she was able to send them to the best schools. 
When sixteen years of age, Anne was sent to the 
Albany Female Academy to complete her education. 
She proved to be a student of great intelligence, 
assiduous and zealous in the performance of her 
duties ; she won class honors in several departments, 
and for two years in succession the prize for the best 
poem. She graduated with highest honors in 1834, 
and remained some time in the Academy as a teacher. 

3 



Bnne C. %. JSotta 

Later, she accepted a situation in the family of Mr. 
Gardiner, of Shelter Island, N. Y., to teach his three 
little daughters. Two of these afterward married, 
successively, Professor Horsford of Harvard College. 
During the two years she stayed on this island, she 
kept a journal which she called " The Diary of a Re- 
cluse," an interesting record giving the details of 
her daily life on that lonely spot, filled with solid 
thoughts and original ideas, although tinged with a 
melancholy tendency which was quite natural in one 
so sensitive, so eager for knowledge, and so entirely 
deprived of association with scholarly and sym- 
pathetic minds. She has said, however, that she 
considered her solitary life on that island the prin- 
cipal basis for the development of her mental char- 
acter, as it afforded her extensive and systematic 
reading for a thorough self-education. 

After leaving the Gardiners, she joined her mother 
in Providence, R. 1., where she took young ladies 
into the family to teach and educate, it was here, in 
1843, ^^^^ ^ '^^^ placed under her charge, and soon I 
grew to appreciate her incomparable methods of 
teaching, to love her sweet disposition, and to admire 
her charming manners. Her acute intellectual insight 
into character, and her wisdom in guiding others as 
well as herself in the various branches of study, were 
remarkable. She inspired her pupils with love for in- 
tellectual occupation, strengthened their characters, 
and made them eager to improve in every way. Her 
intense interest in their advancement became to them 
a powerful stimulus. Her strong affection for young 

4 



:«S(ograpbical Botes 

people was a dominant characteristic of her nature, 
and she delighted in promoting and watching over 
the gradual development of their mental and moral 
faculties. It was for this that, from her early days 
to the end, she liked to have in her house one or more 
young ladies to educate and prepare for the duties of 
life. Her ideas on education were rational and well 
defined. At the early age of twenty she wrote a 
letter to a young friend, full of practical wisdom, 
advising her on the best method of study. Her in- 
fluence on her pupils was good and permanent, and 
in after years many of the young ladies who had en^ 
joyed the privilege of her instruction, and had become 
wives and mothers, often expressed their gratitude for 
the beneficent influence of her example and advice, 
by which they were still inspired. 

While living in Providence she occasionally wrote 
for reviews and magazines. In 1841 she edited 
"The Rhode Island Book," which contained some 
of the best specimens from the writers of that State, 
from Roger Williams down to her own time, in- 
cluding two of her original poems. About this time 
she instituted her evening receptions, which were 
often honored by Emerson, Dr. Brownson, Mrs. 
Whitman, and other eminent people. Charles T. 
Congdon states in his "Reminiscences of a Jour- 
nalist" that the best literary society of Providence in 
1843 was to be found in the parlors of Miss Lynch ; 
and so it continued to be after she became a resident 
of New-York city. 

In the year 1845 she was with a prominent family 



Bnne C. %, :)i3otta 

in Philadelphia, superintending the studies of a young 
lady who desired to complete her education ; and it 
was while here that she made the acquaintance of 
Fanny Kemble, who soon became strongly attached 
to her, presenting her to a much wider circle of liter- 
ary people. In a letter which Mrs. Kemble wrote to 
her after having read some of her poems, she said: 
" I thought, on perusing your verses. This, indeed, is 
the work of one of God's elect." The great actress 
had a strong will, and resented at once the least op- 
position. She would raise her imperious head in 
disdain if anything she had said was questioned. 
But she has been known to submit before the sweet 
smile and genial manner of Anne C. Lynch, who 
sometimes dared to express a different opinion. 

After leaving Philadelphia, she with her mother 
settled in New-York city. They took a house in 
Waverly Place, where in 1846 I again became a 
member of their family. Miss Lynch received every 
Saturday evening, wrote for periodicals, and resumed 
teaching, taking a position as teacher of English com- 
position in the Brooklyn Academy for young ladies. 

Soon we removed to Eighth street; then in 1849 
to Ninth street. About this time she published her 
poems in book form ; they were illustrated by dis- 
tinguished artists of that time.* The volume elicited 
universal praise, and among those whose homage 
she received was Edgar A. Poe, who in his "Literati" 

1 The " Battle of Life" was illustrated by Duggan ; " The Angel of 
Death," by H. K. Brown; "Teaching the Scriptures," by Hunting- 
ton ; " Portrait of Frederika Bremer," by Sodermark ; "To the Mem- 

6 



asiograpbical "flotcs 

says of her two noble poems, "The Ideal" and "The 
Ideal Found": "In modulation and vigor of rhythm, 
in dignity and elevation of sentiment, in metaphori- 
cal appositeness and accuracy, and in energy of ex- 
pression, 1 really do not know where to point out 
anything American superior to them." He also com- 
mends her poem " Bones in the Desert," not forget- 
ting some graceful and touching lines on the death 
of Mrs. Willis. He tells us that she wrote anony- 
mous critical papers in the " New-York Mirror " and 
elsewhere, with acknowledged contributions to ' ' The 
Gift," "The Diadem," and "The Democratic Re- 
view," in which she published an essay on Fanny 
Kemble's poems. 

About this time she wrote a poem on Frederika 
Bremer, a copy of which was sent to that lady. This 
opened an interesting correspondence; and when 
the celebrated Norwegian made her memorable 
visit to America, she was the guest of our poetess 
for several weeks. The house in Ninth street 
swarmed with distinguished people, who were eager 
to give the popular writer their welcome to our land. 
It was fiiscinating to see the delight of this cheer- 
ful lady as she watched the hostess gliding among 
her guests, bestowing upon all, equally, her courtly 
attentions, her smiles, and an interest in their en- 
joyments. Miss Bremer gave her impressions of the 

ory of Channing/'by Durand ; " The Wasted Fountains," by Winner; 
"The Wounded Vulture," by Cushman ; "Bones in the Desert," by 
Darley ; "The Mediterranean," by Rossiter; "Byron among the 
Ruins of Greece," by Rothermel. 



annc C. X. JBotta 

poetess in her "Notes on American Life." There 
she says : " My first idea of Miss Lynch was that she 
led a butterfly life; but, after closer intercourse in the 
privacy of her home, I learned the depth of character 
she possessed, and now feel that 1 know Anne Lynch 
at last." 

Miss Lynch visited Washington four successive 
seasons — from the year 1850 to 1853. In 1851 she 
presented a petition to Congress in behalf of her 
mother, who was the only living child of Lieutenant- 
Colonel E. Gray, claiming payment of money due for 
military services rendered by him in the Revolutionary 
War. Through her perseverance, energy, and popu- 
larity, and with the aid of prominent men in the 
Senate and in the House, the claim was granted. 

Among her prominent friends in Washington 
mention may be made of Henry Clay, to whom she 
was for a time private secretary, Judge Berrien of 
Georgia, Pierre Soule of Louisiana, and Judge Phelps 
of Vermont. She soon became the center of the 
most cultivated society in the capital, which was at- 
tracted by her intellectual qualities, genial manners, 
and personal magnetism. 

In a speech which Daniel Webster addressed to 
the Senate in 1850, he said : " When 1 and all those 
that hear me shall have gone to our last home, and 
when the mold may have gathered on our memo- 
ries, as it will on our tombs, . . . " On this 
sentiment she wrote the following poem, which 
elicited from the great statesman a beautiful letter 
of recognition : 

8 



JBtodtapbical flotes 



WEBSTER. 

The mold upon thy memory! — No, 

Not while one note is rung 
Of those divine, immortal songs 

Milton and Shakspere sung ; 
Not till the night of years enshrouds 

The Anglo-Saxon tongue. 

No ! let the flood of Time roll on, 

And men and empires die ; 
Genius enthroned on lofty heights 

Can its dread course defy, 
And here on earth can claim the gift 

Of immortality ; 

Can save from that Lethean tide, 

That sweeps so dark along, 
A people's name — a people's fame 

To future time prolong, 
As Troy still lives, and only lives, 

In Homer's deathless song. 

What though to buried Nineveh 

The traveler may come. 
And roll away the stone that hides 

That long-forgotten tomb : 
He questions its rnute past in vain. 

Its oracles are dumb. 

What though he stand where Baalbec stood 

Gigantic in its pride: 
No voice comes o'er that silent waste, 

Lone, desolate, and wide ; 
They had no bard, no orator, 

No statesman, — and they died. 

9 



anne C. IL. JBotta 

They lived their little span of life — 
They lived and died in vain ; 

They sank ingloriously beneath 
Oblivion's silent reign, 

As sank beneath the Dead Sea wave 
The Cities of the Plain. 



But for those famed, immortal lands, 
Greece and imperial Rome, 

Where Genius left its shining mark. 
And found its chosen home, 

All eloquent with mind they speak, 
Wood, wave, and crumbling dome. 



The honeyed words of Plato still 

Float on the echoing air ; 
The thunders of Demosthenes 

y^gean waters bear ; 
And the pilgrim to the Forum hears 

The voice of Tully there. 

And thus thy memory shall live, 

And thus thy fame resound. 
While far-off future ages roll 

Their solemn cycles round. 
And make this wide, this fair New World 

An ancient, classic ground. 



Then with our Country's glorious name 
Thine own shall be entwined ; 

Within the Senate's pillared hall 
Thine image shall be shrined; 

And on the nation's Law shall gleam 
Light from thy giant mind. 

ID 



aSiograpbtcal IRotcs 

Our proudest monuments no more 
May rise to meet the sky ; 

The stately Capitol, o'erthrown, 
Low in the dust may lie : 

But mind, sublime above the wreck, 
Immortal, cannot die! 



The payment of her mother's claim having been 
received, she was quite anxious about the investment 
of the money. Many withheld their advice for fear of 
making a mistake, in this embarrassment a friend 
introduced Miss Lynch to Mr. Charles Butler of New- 
York city, who at that time was extensively engaged 
in railroads and lands in the West. He kindly and 
wisely invested the money. From that time he be- 
came her constant adviser and warm friend. His 
friendship for her, as hers for him, was sentimental 
and beautiful as it was disinterested and pure. For 
more than forty years he managed your affairs with 
skilful and generous hands ; and this brought you 
both into constant relations with him — an intimacy 
which grew into a nob'e, ever-living affection and into 
an unremitting mutual devotion. She never allowed 
a year to pass without sending him a few original 
lines in commemoration of his birthday, expressing 
in affectionate rhymes her reverence for his generous 
nature, and his sympathy for all who were in need 
of it, and her admiration for the distinguished traits 
of his character as a man, as a Christian, and as 
a friend. The following are two of these sweet 
remembrances: 



Bnne G, %, :fiSotta 



TO MY FRIEND, 

ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 



Oh, Time ! deal gently with my friend, 

Who gently deals with all ; 
And on his loved and honored head 

Let blessings only fall 

In love to God, and love to man, 

His days pass here below ; 
And so, to reach the home above, 

He has not far to go. 

But distant be that hapless day 

That calls him from our view: 
Heaven has so many souls like his. 

And Earth, alas ! so few 

On another anniversary she wroie to him as fol- 
lows : 

TO MY FRIEND, 
ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 

He who has walked among his fellow-men 
This life's rough path for threescore years and ten, 
Bearing for others, on the weary way, 
The heat and burden of the toilsome day; 
Sounding the silvery notes of faith and hope 
Whene'er the weak or the despairing droop ; 
Speaking the words of sympathy and love. 
Far the wild discords of the world above ; 
Raising the fallen, succoring the opprest — 
The Holy Graal of unfound good his quest ; 
Holding aloft, a true and blameless Knight, 
The stainless banner of the Just and Right : 
He is the Christian hero of to-day, 
And at his feet my tribute here 1 lay. 



JBlograpbical IFlotcs 

Soon after the beginning of her acquaintance with 
Mr. Butler, she with other guests accompanied him 
to the West as far as Chicago. While taking this 
journey she wrote many articles for the press of 
New-York, giving lively descriptions of the West, 
and prophesying a great future for that part of the 
country. 

In 1853 she visited Europe with Mr. Butler and his 
family. During this visit she made the acquaintance 
of Thomas Carlyle and many other eminent people in 
England. The party then traveled to Paris, Florence, 
Venice, and Rome. She improved these opportuni- 
ties in visiting some of the most celebrated studios, 
and in earnestly studying the great masterpieces of 
ancient art which adorn the museums and galleries 
of those cities. This study was afterward continued 
and extended in the several visits which she made 
to Europe with her husband. 

On her return to New-York, she took up her usual 
occupations, and the "Saturday evenings" were re- 
sumed. To these the attention of the public was 
called by several writers of the time. Among them 
may be mentioned Catherine Sedgwick, herself a 
teacher and an authoress. Having attended one of 
these gatherings, she published an article in which 
she expressed much surprise that a young lady with- 
out position or fortune, and struggling for existence, 
should have succeeded in attracting to herself a 
soiiety which in its intellectual character was far 
superior to any in the city. 

Bayard Taylor, who became a constant guest, thus 

•3 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

refers to these receptions in his "John Godfrey's 
Fortunes": "I have been fortunate enough to obtain 
entrance to the * Literary Soirees ' of another lady 
whom I will not name, but whose tact, thorough re- 
finement of character and admirable culture, drew 
around her all that was best in letters and in the arts. 
In her salon I saw the possessors of honored and 
illustrious names. I heard books and pictures dis- 
cussed with the calm discrimination of intelligent 
criticism. The petty vanities and jealousies I had 
hitherto encountered might still exist, but they had 
no voice ; and I soon perceived the difference be- 
tween those who aspire and those who achieve." 
In a letter dated New Year's Day, 1848, he says: 
"Last night 1 attended Anne Lynch's 'Conversa- 
zione,' and met Grace Greenwood, Willis, Morris, 
Read, Healy, Griswold, Mrs. Ellet, Gillespie, Kate 
and Mary Sedgwick. We had a dance and most de- 
lightful conversations, together with recitals. Grace 
repeated her ' Ariadne,' Read his ' Bards,' and Kate 
Sedgwick Miss Barrett's 'Bertha in the Lane.'" 

If I were to mention all that has been written of 
these popular receptions, and the names of the prom- 
inent people who attended them, it would take up 
too much space. I will only say that all the best 
writers, poets, and artists of the time, living in or pass- 
ing through New-York, attended her "evenings." It 
was at one of these that Poe gave the first reading of 
"The Raven." 

One of the pleasant features of these receptions 
consisted in several Valentine Festivals. Most of the 

>4 



3SSIO0rapblcal IRotcs 

verses were original and appropriate, written by the 
poets of her society. I well remember the gallant 
form of General Gaines as he pleasantly accepted the 
tribute to his fame written by our talented hostess. 
All the stanzas read and delivered to each visitor were 
spirited, but of a dignified stamp, far above the 
maudlin, sentimental, flippant lines that are usually 
circulated on the commemoration of St. Valentine. 
Another brilliant affair was a series of tableaux ar- 
ranged by notable artists.^ It can easily be imagined 
what esthetic effects were produced by such an array 
of genius. 

The success of these gatherings was principally 
due to the fact that the hostess never forced her 
opinions on her guests. It was her policy to arouse 
the brilliancy of cultured minds, and keep the light 
burning by gentle suggestions. She never argued, 
and thus kept peace, and avoided hurting the feelings 
of her friends. Humorous and witty, she never 
allowed her repartee to be tinged with sarcasm. 

Besides these regular evenings, she gave occa- 
sional receptions to distinguished people, whom she 
desired to present to her friends. 1 remember one 
given to Ole Bull — the Norwegian violinist — on 
his first visit to America ; a friendship followed 
which lasted until his death. On his departure from 
this country after this first visit, she dedicated a 
po^m to him, which was placed in a bouquet and 
presetited at his Farewell Concert. These receptions 

1 Such as Darley, Church, Healy, Rossiter, Lang, Richards, May, 
Kensett, Elliott, and Hicks. 

'5 



Bnne C. X. JiSotta 

were more frequently given after her marriage in 
1855, when the family removed to Thirty-seventh 
street.^ If you will allow me, 1 will here allude to 
the perfect happiness which for an uninterrupted pe- 
riod of thirty-six years was enjoyed by you both in 
your matrimonial relations. It was consecrated by 
mutual love, congeniality, and a complete harmony 
of tastes, ideas, and aspirations. Speaking to an inti- 
mate friend of her marriage, she said that it satisfied 
her judgment, pleased her fancy, and, above all, 
filled her heart. 

The moral characteristics of Mrs. Botta were pre- 
eminent and all-pervading ; these were the natural 
growth of her strong sympathetic instinct, and strict 
fidelity to duty. Her sensitive conscience was 
quickened by her experience in early life, and by 
contact with those who were unfortunate. It was 
sustained by habitual meditation on moral sentences 

1 Among the prominent people who attended these receptions, or 
spent some time at her house, may be mentioned: Poe, Willis, Morris, 
Fanny Osgood, Emerson, Mrs. Whitman, Dr. Brownson, Cranch, 
Cheney, Bryant, Theodore Sedgwick, Clark, Irving, the Gary sisters, 
Bancroft, Halleck, Grace Greenwood, Greeley, Tuckerman, Stoddard, 
Dr. Holland, Bigelow, Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge, Mrs. Kirkland, Hunt- 
ington, E. Booth, Dr. Bellows, H. Giles, Bayard Taylor, l\. W. 
Beecher, Raymond, Stedman, Helen Hunt, Mrs. Leonowens, Miss 
North, E. Lazarus, A. D. White, Bartholdi, R. Proctor, Froude, 
Charles Kingsley, Matthew Arnold, Lord Houghton, Lord Amberley, 
Lyulph Stanley. Madame Ristori, Salvini, Fechter, Campanini, and 
Madame Gerster were honored by special receptions. Special re- 
ceptions were also given in honor of George P. Marsh, on the oc- 
casion of his appointment as minister to Turin, in 1861, and to the 
officers of the Royal Navy of Italy when they came to this country to 
take possession of two frigates built by an American ship-builder for the 
Italian Government. 

16 



aSiograpblcal Botes 

from the works of Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, Thomas 
a Kempis, Emerson, and others of similar type. The 
Christian education which she received in her youth 
consecrated her conscience to philanthropy as a reli- 
gious duty ; and charity to all became the supreme 
imperative of her conduct. Her sentiment in this re- 
gard is beautifully expressed in the following poem : 

CHARITY. 

O Thou who once on earth beneath the weight 

Of our mortality didst live and move, 

The incarnation of profoundest love ; 
Who on the Cross that love didst consummate, 

Whose deep and ample fullness could embrace 

The poorest, meanest of our fallen race : 
How shall we e'er that boundless debt repay ? 

By long, loud prayers in gorgeous temples said? 

By rich oblations on thine altars laid ? 
Ah, no! not thus Thou didst appoint the way: 

When Thou wast bowed our human woe beneath, 

Then as a legacy Thou didst bequeath 
Earth's sorrowing children to our ministry, 
Saying, As ye do to them ye do to me. 

Although she never accepted any special creed, and 
heartily agreed with Tennyson that 

There is more faith in honest doubt. 
Believe me, than in half the creeds, 

yet she was essentially a Christian woman : a Chris- 
tian of the highest type in her sympathies, her 
aspirations, and her tranquil submission in all 



2lnne C. X. JBotta 

circumstances to the Supreme Power, the omnipo- 
tent, omniscient, and benevolent Father of all 
created things. With her friend, Margaret Fuller, 
she did not say that she accepted the Universe; but 
she willingly recognized its eternal order, and en- 
deavored to conform her life to it : hence her never- 
changing, cheerful disposition, which no disappoint- 
ment or even calamity could ever disturb. She used 
to say that "whatever may happen, it is always 
for the best." With these optimistic views during 
her life she conquered all her doubts and fears. 
This was the great moral quality which gave her a 
strength of character rarely found even in the most 
devoted Christians. Heartily recognizing the great 
results brought about by the influence of all Chris- 
tian churches toward the development of civilization, 
she did not admit any dogmatic element in her faith, 
which was rather molded on the broad interpreta- 
tion of Christianity as held by William EUery Chan- 
ning and his principal followers, such as Ripley, Bel- 
lows, Alger, C. T. Brooks, and Freeman Clarke, to all 
of whom she was united by a sincere friendship. 
To the memory of Channing she dedicated a poem, 
in which she speaks of him as follows : 

Not for thy country, creed, or sect speak'st thou, 
But him who bears God's image on his brow, 
Thy brother, high or low. 

Great teachers formed thy youth, ■' 

As thou didst stand upon thy native shore. 
In the calm sunshine, in the ocean's roar; 

Nature and God spoke with thee, and the truth, 
i8 



:©iograpblcal IHotes 

That o'er thy spirit then in radiance streamed, 
And in thy life so calmly, brightly beamed, 
Shall still shine on undimmed. 

Her deep sentiment for Christianity she expressed 
in noble verses in "Teaching the Scriptures," in 
"Christ Betrayed," "Faith," "Hope," "Charity," 
and, above all, in her noble ode on 

PAUL AT ATHENS. 

Greece, hear that joyful sound ! 
A stranger's voice upon thy sacred hill. 
Whose tones shall bid the slumbering nations round 

Wake with convulsive thrill. 
Athenians, gather there ; he brings you words 
Brighter than all your boasted lore affords. 

He brings you news of One 
Above Olympian Jove. One, in whose light 
Your gods shall fade like stars before the sun. 

On your bewildered night 
That Unknown God of whom ye darkly dream, 
In all his burning radiance shall beam. 

Behold, he bids you rise 
From your dark worship at that idol shrine ; 
He points to Him who reared your starry skies. 

And bade your Phoebus shine. 
Lift up your souls from where in dust ye bow; 
That God of gods commands your homage now. 

But, brighter tidings still, 
He tells of One whose precious blood was spilt 
In lavish streams upon Judea's hill, 

A ransom for your guilt ; 
Who triumphed o'er the grave, and broke its chain ; 
Who conquered Death and Hell, and rose again. 

"9 



Mnnc C. X. JBotta 

Sages of Greece, come near ; 
Spirits of daring thought and giant mold, 
Ye questioners of Time and Nature, hear 

Mysteries before untold ; 
Immortal life revealed, light for which ye 
Have tasked in vain your proud philosophy. 

Searchers for some First Cause, 
'Midst doubt and darkness, — lo ! he points to One, 
Where all your vaunted reason, lost, must pause, 

Too weak to think upon, — 
That was from everlasting, that shall be 
To everlasting still, eternally. 

Ye followers of him 
Who deemed his soul a spark of Deity, 
Your fancies fade, your master's dreams grow dim 

To this reality. 
Stoic, unbend that brow, drink in that sound; 
Skeptic, dispel those doubts, the Truth is found ! 

Greece, though thy sculptured walls 
Have with thy triumphs and thy glories rung, 
And through thy temples and thy pillared halls 

Immortal poets sung, — 
No sounds like these have rent your startled air. 
They open realms of light, and bid you enter there. 

Poe, speaking of the moral character of Miss Lynch, 
says: "She is chivalric, self-sacrificing, equal to 
any fate, capable even of martyrdom, in whatever 
should seem to her a holy cause. She has a hobby, 
and this is, the idea of duty." " Do the duty that 
lies nearest thee, and thy next will be made plainer," 
was the motto she adopted when quite young ; and 
her selection of that duty was ever judicious. 



3Blograpb(cal Tfiotce 

First of all was her obligation to her mother, who 
was often in ill health. All personal desires and fa- 
vorite pursuits were sacrificed for the comfort of that 
dear one, whose love, as she says in the poem dedi- 
cated to her, 

Is one flower I have found still unwithered ; 
Like the night-scented jasmine it gleams. 

Her letters to her mother from abroad are models of 
filial tenderness and devotion. 

She was so young when her father died that she 
could not remember him, yet her vivid imagination, 
prompted by her love, yearned for his dear memory; 
and one day, while looking on a miniature portrait 
of him, she wrote these lines : 

I strive in vain those features to restore 
To Memory's faded tablets, which on me, 
From the mute ivory, beam so lovingly. 
And to recall their living light once more. 
In vain 1 strive to pierce that veil of years, 
And turn away all blinded with my tears ; 
But sometimes, when the garish day is passed. 
And night and sleep their spell upon me cast. 
Thou comest to me, my father, from above, 
And then for that brief moment I am blest. 
For 1 am folded to thy sheltering breast ; 
And in the sacred rapture of thy love 
A holy spell is on my spirit laid : 
This mighty hunger of my heart is stayed. 

Her love for her brother was very strong and 
tender ; and after his early death she adopted his 



anne C. X. JBotta 

son, providing for his education and giving him 
most affectionate care. The same kind affection and 
care she bestov/ed on her grandnephew, Thomas 
Raphael Lynch, who with his mother lived in your 
family for several years. He died when eighteen years 
old, the last representative of the Lynch family. 

What she was to you, what you were to her, I 
have already alluded to : what the loss you suffered 
by her death, is not for me to say. Your affliction 
is too deep and sacred to permit any remark. 

To her friends she was always tender, sincere, 
and loyal ; ready to sacrifice to them her time, plea- 
sures, and feelings. Her admirable qualities of mind 
and heart were ever at their service. She never used 
her friends for her own benefit ; but gave them at all 
times, when needed, a bountiful supply of advice, 
comfort, and sympathy. She never would disappoint 
them, although she was sometimes disappointed. 
She never spoke of the favors she bestowed, al- 
though kindness to her was sometimes extolled 
without recognition of kindness received. This in- 
gratitude she bore with undisturbed tranquillity, 
regarding it not with contempt, but rather with 
pity. 

Her sympathy was never withheld, even from 
those unknown to her who came for counsel or 
aid. Poverty, sickness, and old age were sure to 
find in her relief and consolation. No poor person 
who called at her door for assistance was sent away 
with empty hands. In many instances she cared, 
through their lives, for people who were poor and 
ill, making them comfortable to their last days. 



JSiograpbical IRotes 

Highly sensitive and refined, she was always quick 
to recognize mental and moral worth, always offer- 
ing a helping hand with sympathy and encourage- 
ment. Thus she was able to bring forth talents 
which otherwise might never have come to light. 
" It was not so much what Mrs. Botta did for litera- 
ture with her own pen," says a Boston writer, "as 
what she helped others to do, that will make her name 
a part of the literary history of the country. If she 
had done nothing beyond discovering Edith Thomas, 
she would have deserved the thanks of all lovers of 
real poetry. When Miss Thomas presented herself 
at Mrs. Botta's door, she was entirely unknown ; but 
the portfolio of manuscripts she had under her arm 
made it impossible for her to remain so any longer. 
Mrs. Botta detected the divine spark, and passed the 
poet on to that other poet, Helen Jackson (' H. H.'), 
who set herself to work at once to make Miss 
Thomas known to the world. The first thing she 
did was to call at the ' Critic ' office with a poem of 
Miss Thomas's in her hand, which was published in 
that journal just as quickly as the compositors could 
put it into type. Then ' The Century ' published 
a page of the new poet's verses, and it was not long 
before the * Atlantic ' had her among its contribu- 
tors, and the ' Atlantic's ' publishers had a volume 
of her poems on their list. To-day, Edith Thomas 
is recognized as the best among the living women 
poets, and there are only a few men who are her 
superiors. So, as I said before, if Mrs. Botta had 
done nothing but discover Miss Thomas, she would 
have had a proud record." 

23 



Bnne C. %, JBotta 

The poems of Mrs. Botta are marked with this 
deep feeling of sympathy. What can be more 
expressive than these words from "The Wasted 
Fountains"? 

There are aching, there are breaking, 
Other hearts beside thine own. 

Or these about a wounded heart in "The Battle 
of Life"? 

In war with these phantoms that gird him round, 
No limbs dissevered may strew the ground; 
No blood may flow, and no mortal ear 
The groans of the wounded heart may hear 
As it struggles and writhes in their dread control 
As the iron enters the riven soul. 
But the youthful form grows wasted and weak, 
And sunken and wan is the rounded cheek ; 
The brow is furrowed, but not with years; 
The eye is dimmed with its secret tears, 
And streaked with white is the raven hair; 
These are the tokens of conflict there. 



Mrs. Botta was naturally distinguished by mod- 
esty, delicacy, tact, refinement, simplicity, and ele- 
gance of manners ; these qualities being with her 
the spontaneous growth of that preeminent spiritu- 
ality with which she was so liberally endowed. 
With the cares of her household, with the duties 
imposed upon her by friendship and charity, and 
with her social distractions, she lived in the high 
serene region of the Ideal, far above the follies and 

24 



JBtograpblcal Irtotes 

foibles of this world. This quality shone forth in 
her thoughts, her actions, her voice, and her coun- 
tenance. Her poetry is all alive with this spiritual, 
purifying touch, being a beautiful expression, under 
different forms, of the same lofty sentiment.^ So 
it was with her works of art. She often said : 
"Beauty in art, in my opinion, does not consist in 
simply copying nature, but in retaining the true 
features of the subject, and breathing on them a 
breath of spiritual life, which should bring them up 
to their ideal form. There are portrait-painters who 
take particular care to bring forth in their pictures 
the imperfections of their models ; a blind eye, or 
bad mouth, — they are sure to give prominence to 
these errors of nature. A true artist, I think, should 
try to conceal them by a proper use of light and 
shade ; so that, without sacrificing truth, the por- 
trait should bring forth the ideal appearance of the 
subject. This idea 1 try to realize in my portrait- 
busts."^ According to this sentiment, in the selec- 



1 The subjects of her poems are an evidence of the truth of this 
statement — "Longing," "Aspiration," "Largess," "Sweetness," 
" Love," " Wishes," " Endurance," "In the Library," " Music," " The 
Ideal," "The Ideal Found," "The Wounded Vulture," "The 
Heroes," "Vita Nuova," "Unrest," "Accordance," "Charity," 
"The Battle of Life," "Bones in the Desert," "Evening Hymn," 
"The Wasted Fountains," "Faith," "Hope," "To the Sun," "To 
the Century Plant," " The Lake and Star," etc. 

2 Her principal portrait-busts are those of her husband and Mr. 
Charles Butler. A copy of the bust of the last named carved in marble 
was a few years since presented to The University of the City of New- 
York. She also modeled busts of Mr. Henry W. Sage, the late Mrs. 
A. D. White, Miss Avis Leonowens (now Mrs. Fyshe), and the Hon. 
Lyulph Stanley, 

25 



anne C. %. 3Botta 

tion of her reading she always gave the preference to 
those poets and novelists who on the "wings of 
genius " soar high above the low realities of this life, 
and thus endeavor to elevate the human mind to the 
lofty regions of the true, the just, and the beautiful. 
Her favorite studies were history, literature, and art ; 
and to these she gave all the time she could spare 
from her various duties. At the time of her death 
she was engaged in preparing a " Handbook of Uni- 
versal History," which is left unfinished. This was 
to be a companion to her "Handbook of Universal 
Literature," published first in i860, and reedited 
with additions in 1 890. 

The following poem shows her deep reverence for 
the paramount influence of literature on the human 
mind: 

IN THE LIBRARY. 

Speak low, tread softly through these halls ; 

Here genius lives enshrined, 
Here reign, in silent majesty, 

The monarchs of the mind. 

A mighty spirit-host they come 

From every age and dime ; 
Above the buried wrecks of years 

They breast the tide of Time. 

And in their presence-chamber here 

They hold their regal state, 
And round them throng a noble train. 

The gifted and the great. 
26 



JBiograpbical IWotes 

O child of earth, when round thy path 

The storms of life arise, 
And when thy brothers pass thee by 

With stern, unloving eyes — 

Here shall the Poets chant for thee 
Their sweetest, loftiest lays; 
I And Prophets wait to guide thy steps 

In wisdom's pleasant ways. 

Come, with these God-anointed kings, 

Be thou companion here, 
And in the mighty realm of mind 

Thou shalt go forth a peer. 

In whatever she undertook, she displayed remark- 
able energy and perseverance ; she was endowed 
with indomitable courage, which enabled her to over- 
come many obstacles. "1 am not afraid of any- 
thing," she used to say. " 1 feel like that great hero 
of whom Horace sings : 

" If in fragments were shattered the world. 
Him its ruins would strike undismayed." 

She expressed her admiration for this virtue of moral 
courage, in her beautiful poem : 

ENDURANCE. 

Thou brave old Titan, that in chains didst lie, 
Bound to the rock on the Caucasian hill. 
Who by sublime endurance didst defy 
Imperial Jove and all his shades of ill; 
As I invoke thy spirit here to-day, — 
27 



anne C. X. JBotta 

From the old Pagan world thou speak'st to me, — 
I hear thy voice across Time's echoing sea ; 
Bid me thus bear and conquer, — I obey. 

Henceforth, like thee, 1 will endure and wait 
(On life's black summit bound) without dismay. 
Then in thine iron car roll on thy way. 

Thou stern, relentless power that men call Fate, 
Loose then thy bolts, thou dark and threat'ning sky- 
Thou vulture at my heart, feed to satiety. 



With her innate sympathy, with her tendency to 
long for better conditions, she could not fail to be in 
harmony with all movements directed toward human 
progress. During the civil war in America she 
contributed to the funds of the Sanitary Commission 
by the sale of an album prepared by her own hands. 
And again, after the Franco-German War, she dis- 
posed of another album for the establishment of a 
permanent prize at the French Academy for the best 
work on the " Education of Women." When 
Kossuth, the Hungarian patriot, came to America, 
she consecrated a poem to him. And when Italy, 
after a slumber of many centuries, awoke to na- 
tional consciousness, she saluted her arising with 
" Viva Italia." She sympathized with all social and 
political reforms which were attempted at different 
times in this country; but her exquisite delicacy 
and modesty never allowed her to pose as a re- 
former. Early in her time, some of her friends — such 
as Ripley, Curtis, and Cranch — had joined a small 
agricultural and educational association, called "The 
Brook Farm," near Roxbury, Mass. She visited them 

28 



3iBiograpb(cal Iflotes 

once or twice, and saw Mr. Curtis engaged in wash- 
ing dishes which had been used by "The Com- 
munity." She remarked to him that perhaps he 
could be better employed for the progress of his 
fellow-men than in wasting his energy in an occu- 
pation more easily done by others. She returned 
from this visit fully convinced that she could accom- 
plish more by living in the midst of humanity 
than by secluding herself within the narrow limits 
of a farm. 

In the movement for the emancipation of women, 
she took an active part in demanding the legal rights 
of women to property, and to the exercise of the 
various professions. She did not talk much about 
this subject, but George P. Marsh used to say that 
he did not know a woman who, like Mrs. Botta, 
said so little on this question of woman's rights, and, 
when occasion arose, took so firm a grasp of her 
own rights as she did. As for woman's political 
emancipation, she thought that the conditions of 
society were such as to render that reform unad- 
visable. "The political vote given to women," 
she said, "would increase the quantity of the suf- 
frage ; but 1 doubt if it would improve its quality. 
Women must be educated, and then the time will 
come when they may claim to be a part of the 
political body." 

With the transcendentalism of New England, 
which flourished at an early period of her life, she 
sympathized as a protest against the rigid Calvinism 
of the Puritan stamp. At one time she invited Bron- 

29 



anne C. %, JSotta 

son Alcott, one of the leaders of that movement, to 
preside over some conversazioni in her parlors, where 
he could elucidate his favorite subject. On one oc- 
casion, a lady in the audience, impressed by some 
sentiments uttered by the lecturer, inquired of him 
if his opinion was that we were gods. **No," an- 
swered Mr. Alcott, " we are not gods, but only god- 
lings," an explanation which much amused Mrs. 
Botta, who was always quick in perceiving the funny 
side of a remark. 

She was much interested in scientific progress, and 
early in her career she dedicated a poem to Science, 
in which she says : 

Science ! illumined by thy living rays, 

A brighter glory lights the dome of night ; 
There thou dost open to our wondering gaze 

System on system round those worlds of light 
In silence winging their harmonious flight. 

And when weak sense returns to earth again, 
There we behold, when thou dost guide our sight. 

Above, around, where'er our gaze hath been, 
" Infinity without, Infinity within." 

Her imagination was kindled by the new doctrines 
of Darwin and Herbert Spencer. She delighted in 
studying the bearing of the great natural laws of 
evolution, natural selection, struggle for existence, 
the survival of the fittest, the conservation of energy, 
and the prevalence of universal law, which have 
already conquered nearly the whole world of modern 
thought. She was particularly interested in these 
laws as applied not only to the phenomena of the 

30 



asiograpblcal IRotes 

physical universe, but also to history, politics, and 
religion. The potentiality of these discoveries was 
so great to her mind that she w^rote to Emerson ex- 
pressing her belief that they might soon become fit 
subjects for lyric poetry. 

However, while admiring the scientific progress of 
her age, she maintained that modern science cannot 
fully explain either the mysteries of life and death, or 
the problem involved in the contemplation of the 
universe in its origin and its destiny. In her opin- 
ion there was only one possible solution, and that 
the one given by the Christian religion. The belief 
in the immanent presence of the Infinite One — as 
Carlyle says, " The Infinite Good One who has 
given to us all that is good, generous, wise, right, 
whatever we deliberately and forever love, in our- 
selves and in others" — is by itself a great light 
thrown on these problems. It will not make clear 
what is incomprehensible, nor explain what is in- 
scrutable. But under the great canopy of a benevo- 
lent Providence we may at least possess our souls in 
patience, follow truth wherever it leads us, do all 
the good we can, trusting with Tennyson that in 
the long run everything will be for the best, and 
"every winter turn to spring." 

In her youth, Mrs. Botta had a charming presence. 
This quality was not lost as she advanced in age, and 
to the time of her death she appeared much younger 
than she really was. Poe thus describes her when 
young : "She is rather above the usual height, some- 
what slender, with brown hair and soft eyes — the 

3' 



annc C. X. JSotta 

whole countenance full of intelligent expression. 
Her demeanor is dignified, graceful, and noticeable 
for repose." N. P. Willis, in his "People I Have 
Met," portrays her in her youth under the name of 
* 'Jennie Eveland. " ' ' Her face is capable of most illu- 
minative beauty, always expressive, always frank 
and noble, and her form is indeed the perfection 
of feminine symmetry. Never giving her movement 
a thought, she walks with a lithe grace and freedom 
that betray her at once as a woman of perfect make. 
Her head is admirably set on, and an Indian girl bred 
in the forest like a fawn would not be more erect, 
nor of more unconscious elasticity of carriage and 
mien. An unusually arched instep to an exquisite 
foot gives her the mark of high breeding, and her 
slender and yet roundly beautiful hand with its 
tapering fingers has a look of that discriminating 
elegance which the most careless of her friends rec- 
ognize and admire. A bright blue eye, earnest and 
fearless ; profuse brown hair, whose natural waves 
are controlled with difficulty by a comb ; bright 
teeth, and one of those voices of clouded contralto 
which betray the tearfulness used to keeping down 
sadness, are other peculiarities which go to form her 
portrait, and which share in the delightful impres- 
sions she makes on all who have the happiness to 
know her." 

Early in March, 1891, Mrs. Botta began to make 
preparations for a festival, which was to have taken 
place the 31st of the month, in commemoration of 
the thirty-sixth anniversary of her marriage. On the 

32 



JSiodrapblcal IFlotea 

evening of the i 5th she entertained a happy assem- 
blage in her house ; on the 1 7th she received the 
members and guests of the Nineteenth Century Club 
at their rooms, she being one of the directresses. On 
this evening she took a severe cold, which rapidly 
developed into pneumonia. She died suddenly, and 
almost painlessly, on the first hour of the 23d. This 
brief illness was in accordance with a wish she had 
often expressed. 

The announcement of her death was received with 
universal expressions of grief, and brought many 
messages of sympathy and condolence to her grief- 
stricken husband from friends in different cities in 
this country and in Europe ; among which may be 
mentioned those of King Humbert and Queen Mar- 
gherita. The funeral service was held in her parlors 
on the 25th; and in accordance with her wish, there 
was no display. The closed casket, containing all 
that remained of this noble woman, was surrounded 
by a few friends, — no flowers, no music, and only a 
short service by the attending clergyman. Then the 
remains were taken to their final resting-place in 
Woodlawn Cemetery, accompanied by a few sor- 
rowing ones, who saw her laid by the side of her 
mother under the turf among plants and flowers. 
A beautiful tree, the emblem of terrestrial existence, 
overshadows the spot, which is marked by a tall 
granite shaft, the symbol of that ever-ascending ce- 
lestial life, of which, while here, she delighted in 
thinking as the possibility of the progressive future. 
"Adaltiora" should be inscribed on her monument 
3 33 



annc C, X. asotta 

as a high expression of her hope. But as a prayer 
from the hearts of those who loved her, I would 
place upon it those beautiful lines of Halleck : 

Green be the turf above thee, 
Friend of my better days : 
None knew thee but to love thee, 
Nor named thee but to praise. i 



' This tribute to the memory of Mrs. Botta, and nearly all the memo- 
rials contained in this volume, were addressed in the form of letters to 
her husband, V. Botta, the editor of these recollections. Mrs. Ewer, 
nie Sophie Congdon, was one of Mrs. Botta's first pupils and one of her 
dearest companions in her early life. She furnished the notes on which 
this biographical sketch is outlined. It has been extended so as to bring 
it down to the periods not included in Mrs. Ewer's notes. 



34 




iBarli? IRecollectione 

By Mr. Henry W. Sage, Ithaca, N. Y. 



My dear Mr. Botta: 

^OU ask me for some personal recollections of 
your wife previous to her marriage with you 
in 1855. ^ ^'''St knew Anne Charlotte Lynch 
in 1834. At that time 1 was a clerk in Albany, N. Y., 
and she a student at the Albany Female Academy, 
We boarded at the same house. Her home at that 
time was in Hartford, Conn., where her mother and 
her only brother, Thomas, were living. She earned the 
money for her expenses in the Academy by writing 
original pieces, and doing copying, which was pro- 
cured for her by her brother. She was then about 
eighteen years of age. There were several young 
people in the house, and as we often met at the table, 
and again in the parlor for the evening, we soon be- 
came acquainted. My acquaintance with Miss Lynch 
ripened into a friendship which lasted to the day of 
her death. Hers was no ordinary character, and her 
friends then were the best-educated people in letters, 
law, and divinity. She even at that time had made 
a place for herself among the acknowledged leaders 

35 



Bnnc C. %. asotta 

in literature of Albany and New-York, and, before 
she was aware of it, had become a star in the literary 
horizon. Some of her earliest poems (school compo- 
sitions) had been published, and, without any other 
heralding, she suddenly rose to a high position. 
These poems were "The Mediterranean," " To the 
Sun," and "Byron Sleeping amid the Ruins of 
Greece," — all of which were later republished in her 
volume of poems. The productions of her pen, and 
her conversation, marked by her thorough know- 
ledge of history and literature, attracted during the 
next two years the attention of educated men and 
women ; and she received the courtesy and homage 
of Willis, Morris, and many other eminent men of 
those days. 

Although such attention was very flattering to one 
so young, — who owed nothing to position or for- 
tune, — she was entirely free from pride or vanity. 
Her manners were simple and childlike. At that 
early age her character was as well poised as it was 
twenty years later. Her judgment was sound and 
clear; her bearing toward all, kind, cordial, sympa- 
thetic, and dignified. I think those who knew her 
as a school-girl, and in the full maturity of her later 
life, were impressed with this fact ; that at the age 
of eighteen she had already acquired that ripeness 
and remarkable development of moral and intellec- 
tual character which so distinguished her at a later 
period of her life. But the stability and dignity of 
these qualities did not detract from the sweet sim- 
plicity of her manner and conversation. Wise, 

36 



JEarlg IRccollcctiona 

sympathetic, and sincere, she was always on the 
alert, and anxious to do for those who needed her 
friendship. Her ideals of life and duty were high ; 
she never acted from an unworthy motive, but her 
charity for those who did was boundless. She 
would remark: ''They lacked wisdom, and were 
swept by currents they could not control. I cannot 
blame them ; God only can judge ! " Her early life 
was among those who had strict Puritanical ideas. 
She adopted the essentials of Christianity, but was 
not partial to creeds, being deeply religious without 
professing to be so ; and her whole life was based 
upon the " Golden Rule," Her purpose was to be 
and do all that the rule required. This developed a 
well-rounded Christian character, which governed 
her life and conduct. 

Among her early friends in Albany was Amos 
Dean, a rising young lawyer, the founder and 
president of the Young Men's Association. He was 
at that time writing his " History of Civilization," — 
an immense work of seven volumes with more than 
SCO pages each. The manuscript was all read and 
revised by Miss Lynch ; she was so conscientious in 
this that she had to read the principal works on 
history, literature, art, and philosophy, with an equal 
attention to the work of Mr. Dean in the preparation 
of his book. 

In 1836 she left Albany. Soon after, she went to 

Shelter Island to superintend the education of the 

young daughters of Mr. Gardiner, a prominent citizen 

of that place. In 1838 Miss Lynch went to live with 

3* 37 



Bnnc C. %. SBottu 

her mother in Providence. Here Susan E. Linn, 
who afterward became my wife, was placed under 
her charge as a student in history and literature. 
Later our friend removed to New- York, where her 
literary acquaintance was largely extended. From 
that time we seldom met, but often corresponded, 
advising each other of our progress in life, and feel- 
ing equally sure of an ever-abiding friendship. We 
always held in vivid remembrance the first year of our 
acquaintance in 1834, and the discussions we then 
had in reference to the life before us. Our posses- 
sions at that time were few, but we had a boundless 
stock of faith and hope that never has failed. My 
Christmas gift to her in 1888, a silver pitcher with 
this inscription, refers to that period of her life and 
mine: 

1834. 

Two Friends look out on Life's broad sea, 
And sail their Pilots, Hope and Faith; 
Their hearts are strong and brave, 
Prepared for calm or stormy wave ! 



The Friends have sailed fifty years and four, 

The Pilots ever there ! 

Faith always at the helm, 
While Hope looked out before! 
And onward still they sail, 

Their final Port in sight; 
The open door from Earth 

To God's eternal Light ! 

Henry W. Sage to Anne C. L. Botta, 1888. 
38 



Baclg TRecoUections 

Her later life was better known by you and others 
than by me. She was a rare woman. A nobler, 
purer, truer, never lived. She was broad and sound 
in her intellectual grasp, deep and tender in her 
sympathy, abounding in love for those nearest her, 
and in charity for all who needed charity. 



39 



m 




a %ovxm tribute 

By Grace Greenwood, Washington, D. C. 



>T is difficult to realize that more than two 
years have swept by since our beloved 
friend left us, so suddenly, with no faintest 
warning. Even as we walked and talked together, 
in the pleasant afternoon sunshine of life, she 
turned, and, by a covert gateway, passed into the 
'• valley of the shadow of death," and we saw her 
face no more ! Can it be that the violets of three 
springtimes and the roses of three summers have 
blossomed about her grave, — that the fallen leaves 
of two autumns and the snows of a second winter 
have drifted over it? To me the realization is the 
more difficult because of my removal from the places 
that once knew her — my distance from the beauti- 
ful home in which I so often saw her. It seems to 
me that I have only to return, to find her there — so 
fresh is her memory, which scarce seems a memory; 
for she is not only dearer, but nearer to me, than she 
was when in this realm of shifting shadows, delusive 
dreams, and mysterious longings we call life. In 

40 



B loving C^ribute 

spirit I seem to live much in her very presence — am 
scarcely barred out of her pleasant, serene compan- 
ionship. Yet I was quite cast down, at first, in 
knowing that, " in my flesh," I could see and em- 
brace her never again. 1 think that the old grieve 
more deeply, if less passionately, than the young. 
When friends beloved in "the days that are no 
more," are taken from us, we sorrow not alone for 
them, but for our lost youth — its romance and light- 
heartedness. Countless memories of pleasant scenes 
and the actors therein are connected in my mind 
with this noble woman and loyal friend, who was 
intimately associated with many of the events and 
much of the happiness of my early life. What a 
help she was ! — practically, mentally, and spiritually. 
She had always an intense desire to aid others — to 
minister to their happiness and well-being. It was 
a divine hunger of her soul. Her sympathies touched 
all about her, and reached far and wide ; but when 
she could feel an intellectual or artistic as well as 
benevolent interest, she was most happy. 

She saw pleasure through the eyes of those she 
loved — she had the keenest joy in their success. 
Though so sympathetic, she was an admirable coun- 
selor — safe, loyal, and judicious. Many came to 
her for advice in desperate straits, and went away 
stronger in resolve or patience. To the down- 
cast, she was comfort ; to the struggling, infinite 
encouragement. 

When I first met Anne C. Lynch, she was known 
to me only as the writer of a few poems, whose 

4' 



anne Q, %, 38otta 

pure and lofty spirit and exquisite artistic finish had 
so impressed me that when she called to see me 
during my first visit to New-York, I felt that in 
wishing to know me she did me great honor — a 
feeling 1 never lost. I was then fresh from uncon- 
ventional village life, knowing little of literary or 
metropolitan society, while she was, for one so 
young, an accomplished woman of the world — yet 
not worldly. She was wise without guile. As I 
said, she was a great aid to me in many ways. 
Miss Lynch resided, at that time, in a modest house 
down-town — which was not called "down-town" 
then. Her home was simple in its appointments, 
but marked by that artistic elegance which always 
characterized her surroundings. With her lived her 
widowed mother, an old-school gentlewoman, to 
whom she was devoted for many years, with a filial 
love that almost amounted to a passion, — fond, 
patient, passing all praise. To me there was some- 
thing pathetic in this unconscious sacrifice and unfal- 
tering service. No ambition for intellectual or social 
distinction — not the strong allurements of art or 
brilliant society, not even the claims of a later and 
most dear love — had power to render her neglect- 
ful of that sacred filial duty, unfaithful to the primal 
cult of the heart. 

The time of my first acquaintance with Miss Lynch 
was the time of Fanny Kemble Butler and Catherine 
Sedgwick ; of Bryant, Halleck, Poe, and Willis, — all 
knowing and honoring her. Besides these friends, 
she had about her a goodly company of choice spirits, 



a %ovim Q^cibute 

artistic and literary, — a delightful circle, gathered she 
hardly knew how ; for she was far from realizing the 
subtle attraction, the peculiarly gentle magnetism, 
of her own personality. This circle widened and 
widened, till from it and for it she formed the most 
brilliant and successful salon 1 have ever known in 
America, They who had the entree to those weekly 
reunions — almost uninterrupted for a score of years, 
and never wholly discontinued — must remember 
them with grateful pleasure mingled with keen re- 
gret. For all thus once favored must live in a light 
that can never fade, one central, living picture — the 
dainty yet dignified figure of a peerless hostess 
with an honest welcome in her soft blue eyes. The 
gentle pressure of her delicate hand, her frank smile, 
and her low, sweet voice — how real and how recent 
they seem ! 

Those evenings were conversa;(iom of an informal 
but most refined character — not occasions for pro- 
fessional talkers, nor for elocutionary display, though 
sometimes guests of rare histrionic talent gladly con- 
tributed to our enjoyment. I have never since seen 
in any young society-leader such a union of cour- 
ageous truthfulness and exquisite tact as distin- 
guished Miss Lynch ; and these qualities remained 
with her all her life, as did a beautiful transparency 
of character, which revealed its purity without dis- 
guising its depth. I have heard mention made of 
her " repose of manner." I should rather say 
poise, — the expression of a perfect mental equili- 
brium. My friend's admirable feminine traits and 

43 



Bnne C. X. JSotta 

social and intellectual equipments most impressed 
me during an intimate association with her in the 
more cosmopolitan society of Washington. This 
city was not then (a decade before the war) so rich 
in millionaires and fine mansions as it has since 
become ; but it was passing rich in great men and 
in brilliant and cultivated women. Authorship was 
not so fashionable among Southern ladies as it now 
is; but the ability was by no means lacking. The 
wit, the taste, the poetic feeling now put to practi- 
cal and profitable use in literature, were then prodi- 
gally expended in conversation, giving a peculiar 
charm to the society of the capital ; and it was in 
this bright, aristocratic society that Anne C. Lynch 
shone by her own light — with no adventitious aids 
whatever. Her social success among the best peo- 
ple was extraordinary. At Cabinet and Presidential 
receptions she was seen surrounded like a queen by 
statesmen. One of her warmest friends in those 
days was Henry Clay. He had for her, he once told 
me, not only the admiration he always felt for a 
clever, witty woman, but profound respect for her 
scholarly attainments, her rare good sense, and, 
above all, her purity of character. By the way, I 
should hardly apply the homely term "good sense" 
to that marvelous instinct of our friend, — that swift 
and sure perception of the right thing to say and do 
on all occasions ; what jarring topics to avoid ; what 
sensibilities to spare ; how to reach and move the 
noble nature, so often hidden, in those she encoun- 
tered. In attempting to analyze this rare gift of hers, 

44 



B %ovim tribute 

one might have said : It is politeness and something 
better, — it is tact and something finer, — the perfect 
ear and sight, the exquisite touch of the soul. I re- 
member that during our first season in Washington, 
the ladies staying at the National Hotel gave a re- 
ception for Frederika Bremer, and unanimously ap- 
pointed her friend, Miss Lynch, to do the honors. 
She was in her gayest mood that evening ; but her 
manner had the same ease and simple kindliness 
which distinguished it always, — even to that last 
reception, in her own beautiful home, only a week 
before she died. Somewhat weary she looked then ; 
but her smile had the old sweetness as she bade me 
good night. Ah, " Good night ! " 

Washington assemblies were in those days pleas- 
antly unconventional, yet select — not too much 
thronged to be thoroughly enjoyable ; and no one 
enjoyed them more than Miss Lynch. The polka 
was then fashionable, and she was very fond of it, I 
remember, — dancing lightly, gracefully, and untir- 
ingly, with a refined enjoyment delightful to see. 
She was never, even then, called beautiful; but her 
face was very attractive, from its bright and varying 
expression, — a peculiarly winsome face, — while her 
form was remarkable for symmetry, suppleness, 
and a singular lightness of movement. She always 
dressed with entire simplicity, but becomingly ; in 
late years in subdued colors, mostly black, yet with 
a certain freshness in style, — that touch of perennial 
youth which to the last lingered in her voice, her 
smile, and her elastic step. Ideally neat in person, 

45 



Unnc C. %. asotta 

there was also about her an aroma of exquisite moral 
cleanliness, which especially endeared her to women. 
The coming of good fortune and love into the life 
of Miss Lynch, her happy marriage to Professor Botta, 
her rem ,al to a more elegant and spacious home, 
never had the effect of cooling her heart toward her 
old friends, or concentrating her generous sympathies. 
Having the same freedom as before, she was the same 
woman toward all the world ; only those nearest her 
saw that her nature was enriched both by the giving 
and the receiving of the new relation. With such a 
helper by her side, her generous hospitality enlarged 
its bounds till it took in the best representatives 
of literature, art, and science, with the leaders and 
heroes of great movements for liberty and humanity 
of the Old World as of the New. Having always 
estimated very highly Mrs. Botta's literary ability — 
poetic and critical especially — and her artistic gifts, 
so modestly regarded by her, and having remarked 
of her in late years a steady growth in spirituality, 
I often felt that metropolitan society, in absorbing 
her so much with local social claim' and even local 
charities, robbed the world. It was a pure, cheery 
light which shone from the windows of her hospi- 
table home, and that now is quenched ; but a loftier, 
keener, more enduring radiance might have shone 
from her noble intelligence, her artistic genius, un- 
trammeled and unhindered. Yet she made much 
happiness in her life, and helped lesser lights to shine 
their brightest. Sometimes, as I recall that life of 
beneficent activities, and think how completely it has 

46 



passed into stillness and silence, a chill of mortal 
doubt — a breath from the sea of eternal mystery — 
creeps over my heart ; but only for a moment. I surely 
can trust that she did not cease to be, just when 
her great soul was ripe for being ; that in .•>ne of the 
Father's "many mansions," in a "house called 
beautiful," she is at home ; that the light of welcome 
is still on her dear face, and that her divinest joy is 
still in giving joy, comfort, and counsel. She labors 
there with her old artistic delight, she waits with 
her old sweet patience. 



47 




Sweet fIDemodee 

By Mrs. Cornelia G. Willis, Williamstown, Mass. 



My dear Mr. Botta: 

>0U have offered me a privilege in asking me 
to contribute to the memorial you intend 
publishing of your dear wife. 1 wish i 
could adequately respond to it. The spirit is very 
willing, but out of the long years of affectionate 
friendship, 1 find it difficult to clearly recall incidents 
which would give any illustration of her career, that 
are not too closely linked with personal experience. 
As I gather up the memories, they are massed in 
a very vivid and clear impression of a most lovable 
personality — the expression of a true, high-hearted 
character which was rounded by the sharp discipline 
of life, and the deep pursuing of an affectionate and 
spiritual nature always to higher and higher develop- 
ment. Her energy was great ; her common sense 
never failed her in practical things, and her genial 
kindliness kept her always in touch with the suffer- 
ings of her fellows, and enabled her to aid them in an 
endless variety of ways, — as illustrated by the active 
part she took in the organization of the Wilson 

48 



Sweet Memories 

Industrial School, and other enterprises of public 
interest, and also in the thousand little personal and 
social kindnesses for which so many recipients hold 
her in tender memory to-day. 

When 1 came to New-York a young woman, she 
was among the very first of my husband's friends to 
greet me. For six years we were neighbors, and 
saw each other daily, and that intimate intercourse 
wove the strong bond of affection which never 
weakened in all the long years, although we saw 
each other less often after our home was in the 
country. At the time 1 speak of, she had not been 
very long in New-York, and was making a brave fight 
to win a home for mother and herself. The effort 
was courageously undertaken, and cheerfully and 
successfully carried through. In a few years she had 
made for herself an enviable position, and had gathered 
about her a large circle of friends; and when this 
was attained, it was held as a vantage-ground from 
which still to enlarge her sphere of usefulness and 
helpfulness. 

Her thought was always aspiring, her heart always 
reaching out to serve some one by deed or sympathy. 
Her gifts were many, and made her a most enjoyable 
companion as well as the steadfast friend upon whom 
one could rely. 

I inclose a sketchy characterization which Mr. 
Willis wrote of her under the name of "Jennie Eve- 
land," and published in his "People I Have Met." 
If he had been here to express his estimate of her 
when she left us, it would have sounded a deeper 
4 49 



Bnnc C. X. JBotta 

chord, and have been more worthy. And yet there 
is a thread of truth running through it, and you may 
care to see it. Mr. Willis loved her and valued her 
friendship, and no one was more welcome in our 
home at all times than " our dear Lynchie." 

As I read this over, it seems a very poor expression 
of the admiration and love I bear for the friend of a 
lifetime; but the heart is more steadfast and elo- 
quent than the memory, and it is the best 1 can offer. 

If 1 were to sum up in two words the compelling 
attributes of her nature, I should say they were 
aspiration and good will. 



50 




By Richard Storrs Willis, Detroit, Mich. 



My dear Mr. Botta : 

^HEN your life passed under the shadow of 
a great grief, our hearts went out to you ; 
and our loving memories to her who left 
but those memories, severed from the winning pres- 
ence which vanished from view. And when she 
passed to the Celestial Country, she went freighted 
with an affluence of varied gifts, with the benedic- 
tion of all who knew her, and with a heartfelt sigh 
of "Peace to thee ! " 

In the dread silence which is one of the most ter- 
rible swift-followings of death, we can well recall 
the qualities of mind and heart which that silence 
seems to render strongly vivid to us. 

As generally viewed, her nature seemed molded 
on a high plane of entire disinterestedness: sympathy 
with others rather than with and for herself, a sym- 
pathy not limited to words, but active and practical, 
ready with any assistance she could render in what- 
ever was the end to be attained. While this was 
specially true in the literary and artistic sphere, — to 

5> 



Bnnc C. %. JBotta 

which her nature was most akin, — it was equally so 
in the practical and often vexed problems of life. It 
is perhaps not so untrue that no one is more ab- 
solutely and downright practical than one naturally 
poetic and imaginative, if once fairly put to it — for it 
was true of her. 

In matters literary and artistic, many a young 
writer and artist can attest to her helpfulness. The 
unwilling, if not impatient, ear, ill concealed, of so 
many self-absorbed strivers in these realms, was 
never found in her. On the contrary, she would 
delicately invite a confidence yearning to be im- 
parted by those seeking a calm, clear judgment, 
and the advice of a cultivated, esthetic mind. 

As to her own creative activity, both in poetry 
and her favorite branch in art, -^life-modeling in 
plaster, to be wrought in marble, — she was silent, 
habitually so. In all our many years of friendly in- 
tercourse I can recall but a single instance where a 
voluntary allusion was made by her to her poetry, 
and an expression of opinion was unexpectedly 
sought as to what she had done; a question which 
revealed a sweet innate modesty in view of a literary 
judgment like hers. 

In her dealings with the world, its affairs and its 
people, she showed in a marked degree two salient 
qualities — tact, so inestimable in worldly matters, 
more potent, for temporal success, than genius ; and 
common sense, the most uncommon sense of all. 
How remarkably these served her purpose in the 
earlier, trying, struggling years of her career, few of 

52 



Barlg Dags 

the throngs of her acquaintances in later years were 
aware — and they would be surprised if they knew. 
These qualities gained for her at Washington a long- 
delayed payment due for military services rendered 
to the country in the Revolutionary War by the father 
of her mother, Colonel Ebenezer Gray; this raised 
her from the straitened resources with which she 
was supporting herself and her invalid mother — to 
whom she showed so tender and touching a devo- 
tion through long years of helplessness — to a luxu- 
rious, artistic, and inviting home in upper New- York. 

Quite remarkable, indeed, was a personal magnet- 
ism, silent and unconscious, withal, to herself, by 
which she attracted kindliness, interest, and a willing- 
ness to serve, if ever service were needed. This 
drew to her strong, influential, and wise friends, 
whose counsel and assistance in the arrangement of 
her affairs proved so invaluable. 

Why do I rehearse all these things to you, dear 
friend, who know them so well, unless from a feel- 
ing that what we know we like others who know it 
to say? Perhaps a certain indulgence also may be 
conceded to me, whose acquaintance with the gentle 
departed one antedated even your own. Her choice 
of acquaintances was eminently an expression of her- 
self ; in touch with all distinctive and bright classes 
of mind, intellectual or artistic, they were magneti- 
cally drawn to her, as she to them, and they all 
crystallized in her drawing-room receptions, which 
became so unique a feature in conventional New- 
York, 

4* 53 



nmc c. %, aeotta 

Not least of her attractions to a musical ear, it 
maybe added, was her low, sweet voice, — "that 
excellent thing in woman," — now silenced for all 
of us. 

Superior in her lift of nature to aught that was 
demeaning, — to disparagement, envy, or resentment, 
— and with "charity for all and malice toward none," 
she passed to the land where such qualities have 
their source and their home. Less should we sorrow 
for her than for ourselves. For ourselves! yes; for 
such sorrow is human and irrepressible, wise as an 
affectional relief, to be merged later, as 1 trust it may 
be with you, into the tender after-calm of a serene 
resignation. 



54 




Iber personal traits 

By Parke Godwin, New-York. 



AM very glad to learn that a memorial of 
Mrs. Botta is about to be issued, for few 
persons have more richly deserved to be 
thus held in remembrance by their friends. 

At the time I first became acquainted with her, she 
was already quite well known as the poetess Miss 
Anne C. Lynch. My attention was attracted to her 
then by certain poems which 1 had from time to 
time remarked in newspapers and magazines, which 
contained, as I thought, an unusual degree of poetic 
talent. There was in some of them a good deal of 
that pensive sadness which characterized the writ- 
ings of women at that time ; but others — particularly 
the sonnets on "Milton," "A Modern Hero," 
"Ristori," "Endurance," etc. — had a vigor and range 
of thought that lifted them quite out of the common 
level. 

But on coming to know the person, one was soon 
forgetful of the poetess. She was so genial, win- 
some, and sympathetic, you felt at once, on knowing 

55 



anne C. %. JBotta 

her, that she would be a sure, good friend in whose 
affection and fidelity you could confidently trust. 
She was always amiable, courteous, and devoted to 
good works. Her admiration for the goodness and 
the genius of others, even when these were un- 
recognized by the world, was spontaneous. Many 
is the young author, male as well as female, who 
found in her kind sympathy the first encouragement. 

Her home, soon after her arrival in this city, be- 
came the rendezvous for nearly all that was distin- 
guished in statesmanship, literature, and art. The 
receptions she gave there each week came nearer to 
forming a salon such as we read of in French and 
English memoirs than any we had previously had, 
or perhaps have had since. One was always certain 
to encounter there a great many interesting persons 
not easily to be encountered elsewhere. 1 shall not 
endeavor to recall their names (which would be to 
repeat the lists of fame for those days), but simply 
say that there was hardly a person eminent in our 
own history, or a foreign visitor of celebrity, whom 
her hospitality failed to honor. Few women known 
to me have had greater grace or ease in the entertain- 
ment of strangers, while in her more private inter- 
course, her frank, intelligent, courteous ways won 
her the warmest and most desirable friendships. 

In her later days, her time was devoted largely to 
practical charities, and particularly to those which had 
in view the education and elevation of her own sex, 
and in these her labors, though most unobtrusive and 
modest, were highly efficient. I was never called 

56 



Iber |>er0onal tTraits 

upon, I think, to take part in any benevolent scheme 
in which she did not prove herself a most willing 
and useful assistant. Her death was almost as great 
a loss to society at large as it was to her more in- 
timate friends, so much had she identified herself 
with the good works of her day. 



57 




a Xaurel Mreatb 

By Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, Boston, Mass. 



My dear Mr. Botta : 

^T was a sad day for many of us when we 
heard that your beloved wife was no longer 
in the land of the living. 

An account seemed thus to be closed in which all 
her friends stood as debtors, so largely had we re- 
ceived of her sincere kindness and hospitality. 

I now still do behold her as I have so often seen 
her, surrounded by the excellent company which she 
so well knew how to gather about her, herself the 
much-endeared center of an appreciating circle. 

The atmosphere of her household was one which 
it was pleasant and profitable to breathe. Intelligence, 
good taste, and good feeling reigned there. Filled 
with love for literature and the arts, Mrs. Botta had 
a gift more precious even than her accomplishments 
in those directions. She was adorned with social 
tact, sympathy, and discernment, and her presence 
and influence helped to heighten in those around her 
the love of high thoughts and of useful studies. 

The malignant and idle gossip with which the 
58 



B laurel Mccatb 

great world overflows was not allowed to invade 
the borders of her domain ; where she presided, 
heavenly charity had at least one representative. 

If this poor tribute to her many merits should 
appear to you to deserve a place in your memorial 
volume, I shall be glad to have it appear as a testi- 
mony to my affectionate remembrance of one on 
whose grave I would willingly place the civic wreath 
as well as the poet's laurel. 



59 




IRecollectione 

By the Hon. Andrew D. White, St. Petersburg, Russia. 



^NTO the pleasantest recollections of my boy- 
hood is wrought the name of Anne C. Lynch. 
In those days, when there was little Amer- 
ican literature, a new poem or story brought joy 
to very many families throughout the country ; 1 
recall vividly the days when " Graham's Magazine " 
and " Godey's Lady's Book " arrived and were laid on 
my mother's table. Among the greatest attractions 
in them to her and to me were Miss Anne C. Lynch's 
sketches and poems. There was in them a purity, a 
sweetness, a kindliness which seemed to bring into 
the house a benediction, and in my country home, far 
from the city in which she lived, she became one of 
the objects of my especial admiration. 

Many years later, on a winter evening in 1870, 
when lecturing in the great hall of the Cooper Institute 
in New-York, my attention was drawn by what 
seemed to me one of the most attractive faces I had 
ever seen, a face kindly, gentle, but at the same time 
with deep character in every line ; it was to me very 

60 



IRecoUcctlons 

beautiful, especially as it was surrounded with flow- 
ing gray hair. 

At the close of the lecture I was presented to the 
lady, and found that she was the object of my early 
admiration. 1 had never before seen her, and this was 
one of the rare cases in which an object of early 
admiration met later in life has come up fully to 
expectations. 

Then began for me one of the most precious friend- 
ships of my life ; one, indeed, which I have ever 
since regarded as one of the best things that life has 
given me. It came at a time most opportune, for 
never have I felt the need of friends more than just 
at that period. 

It was in the earliest years of Cornell University. 
Into the founding and early development of that insti- 
tution I had thrown myself forgetful of nearly all 
things else. From the first, its struggle for existence 
had been severe. The fact that I strove to make it a 
University rather than a college of the old type ; the 
fact, too, that I had placed in its charter a clause 
making sectarian control of it forever impossible, — 
these two things brought upon it and upon me an 
opposition untiring and apparently overwhelming. 
The strong friends of every one of the twenty colleges 
in the State of New-York and of many other colleges 
in other States, their graduates, and especially those 
in the pulpit and press, seemed to become more and 
more embittered against us; many who had stood 
by the institution in the beginning were swept away 
by this storm of opposition. 

6i 



anne d. X. JBotta 

Then there were hardships of various sorts arising 
from difficulties in organization, misunderstandings 
with the State officials, lack of funds, and the like — 
all, together, making the life of its first president for 
some years perhaps as unhappy as that of any man 
within the boundaries of the State. 

The lecture at the Cooper Institute was part of the 
effort to breast this storm. For some time I had 
stood on the defensive, endeavoring to show that the 
University would do no harm to the religious or in- 
tellectual development of the country ; but 1 had at 
last seen that this could be of no avail, and 1 deter- 
mined to take the offensive. 

In this lecture, then, at the Cooper Institute, which 
was entitled "The Warfare of Science, "1 endeavored 
to show how every science in all ages has had to meet 
theological opposition and has been bitterly opposed 
by ecclesiastics ; I especially dwelt upon the history 
of education in proof of this. 

The lecture brought me two friends. The first of 
these was Horace Greeley, editor of the *' Tribune," 
who next day spread my lecture in its earliest form 
upon the pages of his great journal, and thus gave 
it an immense circulation among thinking men and 
women. 

The second friend was Anne C. L. Botta, whom 
I then saw for the first time, and who aided 
me personally to make acquaintances and establish 
relations of the greatest use in the work then lying 
before me. 

I became a frequent visitor at her house, where she 
62 



■Recollections 

and her honored husband formed a center which 
attracted thinking people not only from their own 
city, but from all parts of this country and from other 
countries. At their table the ideas which I had most 
at heart were broached and discussed ; thither she 
brought the men and women who could discuss 
them to the best advantage. In her parlors from 
time to time 1 met those who were best worth my 
knowing, and from them received inspirations to 
better thought and work. Time after time, almost 
worn out and discouraged, I sought relief from Uni- 
versity cares in her society and in that of her hus- 
band and friends, and never fiiiled to be revived and 
strengthened by it. 

In her letters, too, she showed her noble charac- 
teristics; she seemed to like nothing better than dis- 
cussing problems best worth thinking upon, and she 
always did this in a noble spirit, — bringing out 
thoughts and giving suggestions sure to bear useful 
fruit. 

In this acquaintance of mine I soon found that I 
was but one of many to whom she was constantly 
giving aid. This aid was of many sorts. Her char- 
ity, both in the ordinary and higher senses of the 
word, was boundless ; she was continually making 
sacrifices to it ; but the aid which she took especial 
delight in administering, was to men and women 
engaged in some work which she thought good. 

Young men and young women struggling to 
make themselves felt in science, literature, art, or the 
work of higher instruction, were the especial objects 

63 



Bune C. %. ilSotta 

of her interest; to seek them out, to aid them, to 
encourage them, to bring them into relations with 
others who could inspire them, — all this was her 
delight; but it was all done in a way most quiet and 
unostentatious. 

It interested me much to note her comments on 
her travels at home and abroad ; her motto might 
well have been "Not things, but men." Although 
having a deep love for art, she found, whether in 
America or Europe, her main attraction in thoughtful 
men and women. Of these she saw very many 
among the best in this country, England, France, and 
Italy, and they were to her more than beautiful 
scenery or works of art. When such men and 
women visited New-York, her house was a place of 
resort for them, and one of her especial delights was 
found in bringing these friends of hers from various 
parts of her own and other countries into commu- 
nication with one another. Thus was imposed upon 
her a great weight of social duty, which became 
more and more engrossing, and when to this were 
added the quiet works of real charity and kindness 
which she was constantly doing, there would seem 
to be little time for anything else ; yet she found 
time, and much of it, — time enough for preparing 
works for instruction in literature which have proved 
to be widely useful, and time to give herself to studies 
in various directions, and to that practice in sculpture 
which was one of the great delights of her life. Yet 
with all these things pressing upon her, she steadily 
preserved her early sweetness and serenity. Seated 
in her charming rooms, surrounded by books and 

64 



IRecollcctions 

works of art which revealed the nobility and beauty 
of her tastes, she seemed, when entertaining her 
friends, to be one of those who have no other care 
than simply to be happy among the happy. 

At such times one met a very wide representation 
of the better human effort. There were represen- 
tatives of widely separate fields of activity, — clergy- 
men, poets, essayists, editors, professors of science 
and of literature, artists, men of business, people who 
were ending their career and people who were be- 
ginning their career : all these were to be found about 
her, — drawn to her house by the same kindly interest 
in their work and welfare. 

For more than twenty years, the friendship formed 
in the most trying period of my life, continued as an 
inspiration and a steady help. 

During those years she was, from time to time, 
my guest, and 1 was very frequently hers ; never dur- 
ing all that period did 1 know her to betray the 
slightest tinge of an unworthy motive in any of her 
words or actions; of envy, hatred, malice, unchari- 
tableness, there was never a trace in her character ; 
her judgments were kindly, — indeed, at times, while 
showing a deep love for good and a determined 
opposition to evil, she seemed almost too lenient 
toward ill-doers. 

The foundation of all her judgments was the love 
of God and the love of man, and this love was real 
and deep, and it took forms ever new, ever varying, 
and ever beautiful. 

To me — as to others — her conversation was 
singularly inspiring: it suggested to a man his best 

5 65 



Bnne C. X. asotta 

trains of thought ; it developed in him the best he 
had ; it made him think better of himself and of man- 
kind; it sent him away stronger for all good work. 

Her interest in affairs was exceedingly broad : 
religion, politics, art, literature, science, social arrange- 
ments — everything that had to do with truth, beauty, 
or goodness was within her province. She was a 
good talker, but no less good as a listener — not 
merely with kindly patience, but with real interest, 
and with the suggestive word at the right moment. 

Her religion always seemed to me of the deepest 
and best. For dogmatic statements and differences 
she cared absolutely nothing; to her, indeed, they 
were less than nothing. To her the sources of reli- 
gious inspiration were the great utterances in all the 
bibles of the world, but above all such as those in the 
Sermon on the Mount, the " first and great com- 
mandment and the second which is like unto it," 
and the definition of " pure religion and undefiled," 
as given by St. James. 

She seemed to me capable of worshiping in equal 
fervor with Roman Catholics or with Unitarians — 
in a cathedral or in a hovel ; and this religious spirit 
of hers shone out in her life and in her countenance. 

Very pleasant was her optimism ; she looked about 
her in this world without distrust, and beyond her 
into the next world without fear. 

Among the most beautiful of her utterances were 
those regarding death and a future life ; toward death 
she looked with perfect equanimity, and toward a 
future life with hope. 

66 



IRecollectlons 

Trials came to her, trials of a kind especially fitted 
to break her faith in humankind, and to alloy the 
sweetness of her character. People whom she had 
befriended showed themselves ungrateful ; some 
whom she had aided to rise from a low estate showed 
themselves, when arrived at higher things, forgetful 
and supercilious. 

But she cared for none of these things. When some 
flagrant instances of this kind were referred to in her 
presence, her answer was : "What I was able to do 
for them 1 enjoyed then, and the remembrance of it I 
enjoy now." 

Her death came unexpectedly to all her friends. 
Although she had lived to a ripe age, she seemed 
ever youthful, so that the news of her death came as 
a great surprise to all who had known her. 

Her heart, and mind, and soul seemed so young! 

Beautiful and touching was her funeral. Means 
had been taken to prevent any large concourse ; there 
were gathered a few of her nearest friends — perhaps 
a score; they represented all classes of those whom 
she had befriended. 

On their way to and from her grave, exchanging 
reminiscences of one so dear, each revealed the fact 
that he or she had found Mrs. Botta a friend in need 
— a friend when friends were few. There was no 
loud panegyric: there was the simple, loving recital 
of what each had seen and known of a most beautiful 
life ; and there came back to me what her old friend 
Horace Greeley had once said to me: " Anne Lynch 
is the best woman that God ever made." 

67 




B Xettcr of Conbolence 

By James A. Froude, London, England. 



My dear Mr. Botta : 

HAVE often thought about you in your lone- 
liness. Your letter is sad, but not sadder 
than it must have been, written as it is 
with the fresh sense on you of your irreparable loss. 
To have possessed such a wife, and to have had her 
taken away from you, is the hardest misfortune that 
could possibly have befallen you. You are not a per- 
son to whom the conventional consolations can give 
relief, and the extraordinary charm of Mrs. Botta can 
only make the recollection of her more poignant. I 
have known many interesting women in my life, but 
about her there was a peculiar grace which I have 
never seen in any other person. She had brilliant 
gifts, yet she never seemed to know that she had any 
gifts at all. And she had that rarest of qualities — 
that she never thought about herself at all. Her life 
seemed to be spent in disinterested care and affection 
for others, and, while all who knew her admired her 
intellect, her simplicity and unvarying kindness were 
more admirable still. Nothing seemed to put her out 

68 



a Xetter of ConDolence 

or disturb her temper. I should myself be the most 
ungrateful of mankind if I forgot the thoughtful af- 
fection which she showed to me — who had no claim 
upon her — so often and in so many ways. 

To you, my dear Mr. Botta, whose existence was 
so wrapped up in hers, all this must seem a poor, and 
perhaps intrusive, tribute to her worth. But there is 
a pleasure in telling you what 1 felt for her, and in 
letting you see that her goodness to me was not 
thrown away. 

What you suffer I know too well from my own 
experience. The young, who have their work before 
them, find relief from time and employment. You 
and I have little to do but sit still and wait till 
we pass away ourselves and carry our memories 
along with us. I used to think death frightful. I 
think now that it has been kindly ordered. If it be 
alarming to die, what would it be if we were told 
that we were never to die? That would be worst 
of all. 

I cannot say whether we shall ever meet again, but 
you will perhaps now and then think of me as one 
who can never cease, while he lives, to remember 
your lost wife. 



69 




Jgcr ipcrsonalit^ 

By Moncure D. Conway, London, England. 



My dear Mr. Botta : 

HEAR with gladness that a memorial vol- 
ume of Mrs. Botta is to appear. 1 fear that 
she, with her characteristic humility, did not 
sufficiently appreciate the value to others of her ex- 
periences and memories, but will hope that from 
manuscripts and letters something of her history and 
intellectual growth may be made known. I used to 
talk with her occasionally of Edgar Allan Poe and 
others of the literary circle charmed by her early po- 
etic promise and her unique personality, and felt cer- 
tain that there was still visible in her the youth, the 
sparkle, the intellectual play, fountain-like, which 
delighted that generation. There were no signs of 
cessation ; she did not repeat herself ; her interest 
was always fresh, for the new person and the new 
event. So little did we dream of any failure, that 
my wife and I, at the time of her death, were look- 
ing forward to the formation of a Sunday-evening 
club for conversation, of which Mrs. Botta was to be 
the central figure. The "Botta Club" exists, and 

70 



gcr ipersonalltB 

she exists in the spirit and aim that founded it. 
But, alas ! we are bereft of a relation more near than 
is often derived from the kinship of blood. 

My dear friend, it is impossible for me to write of 
her in any adequate way. I might tell something 
of her full and exact knowledge, of her artistic 
poetry, her skill in sculpture, of her generosity ; but 
it would require an elaborate study to convey the 
impression, derived by long acquaintance, of her 
personality, at once so simple and complex. I have 
sometimes imagined its sources, — whether, along 
with her American genius and tact, some French 
vein may not have contributed to her dainty ex- 
pression and taste in the use of words, or some Ger- 
man ancestor transmitted her touch of quaintness. 
Her literary and critical insight was exceedingly fine. 
In conversing with her about eminent contempo- 
raries, — Emerson, Carlyle, Longfellow, Browning, 
Tennyson, Holmes, — I never failed to recognize her 
perception of the essential variety and flavor of each; 
and was sometimes surprised by her interpretations 
of familiar sentences, as if she had a private key to 
them. In modeling heads she never flattered, but 
brought out the finest quality, and it was so with 
her criticisms. Also with her personal estimates. 
She was versatile in languages, but the language of 
depreciation she knew not. 

Surely there was nothing more unintentionally 
picturesque than the receptions at "the Bottas" — as 
we used to say. How gracious was our friend, how 
self-forgetting, in bringing forward the new mu- 

7' 



annc C, X. JBotta 

sician, or author, or artist, without parading them! 
There was never a shade of ceremonious style in 
greetings or introductions; all was simple, sincere, 
genuine. In her home, so tenderly decorated by her 
art and taste, with her face so full of happiness, sur- 
rounded by her friends, she reminded me of the tree 
in fairyland which gave to each the particular fruit 
by each desired. 

Forgive, my dear Mr. Botta, the lameness of these 
reflections of our dear Mrs. Botta ; alas, of their feeble- 
ness 1 am as conscious as of their sincerity. 



72 




By Justin McCarthy, M. P., London, England. 



My dear Mr. Botta : 

NEED hardly say how deeply I sympathized 
with you and sympathize with you still, on 
the loss of Mrs. Botta, your dear wife and my 
dear friend. 1 can sympathize with you all the more 
deeply because since first you and 1 came to know 
each other 1 too have lost a beloved companionship. 
Your wife was one of our earliest friends when we 
first visited America many years ago ; she was one 
of the friends whom we went most eagerly to see 
when we returned to the States later on, and she 
was one of the friends whom 1 saw last on my latest 
visit to New- York not long ago The soul of her 
nature — her heart of hearts — was sympathy. 1 
never knew any one in whom the quality of sym- 
pathy was more exquisitely developed. She was a 
woman of rich culture and of varied attainments. 
She had a delightful sense of humor — so sweet, so 
delicate, so vivid. She had a gift of appreciation 
which I have never seen surpassed. What 1 mean 
is this — that whatever good in intellect or heart 

73 



Bnne C. X. 36otta 

there might have been in any man or woman, she 
found it out and recognized it and cleaved to it. 
Other natures have the way of criticizing the defects 
— her genial spirit sought and found the merits that 
were in any one. 1 shall never forget the bright 
hours we had in her house — the talks we had, the 
counsel she was able to give, the broad humanity 
which spread out over all she said and all she did. 
My knowledge of her extended over more than 
twenty years — on my side of the ocean and on 
yours. My friendship and affection for her will only 
be limited by the length of my life ; and 1 hope and 
firmly believe will not be limited by such narrow 
bounds. I can say of her with the utmost sincerity, 
in those delightful words which Steele has made im- 
mortal when writing of another woman, that "to 
love her was a liberal education." 

My son and daughter, to whom Mrs. Botta was 
kind since their childhood, join with me in the pro- 
foundest sympathies and the most cordial regards. 



74 




a tribute 

By William Rounseville Alger, Boston, Mass. 



^HE acquaintance with Mrs. Botta, so much 
prized by me, began almost forty years ago 
with an incident characteristic of her frank 
and generous nature. Having read a paper of mine 
entitled "The Literature of Friendship," just then 
published in "The North American Review," she 
wrote me a letter expressing her enthusiastic approval 
of the sentiments embodied in the essay, and the 
delight she had experienced in its perusal. Soon 
after this we met in person, and at once became 
friends. From that hour, through the events and 
changes of all the ensuing years, the hearty good will 
and confidence uniting us have never known an 
interruption or a shadow, until now, alas ! the unde- 
parting shadow of her death. 

1 have not known a more original and interesting 
personality. She appears in my memory vividly dis- 
tinguished from others by the spontaneity of her 
nature, the depth and variety of the intellectual in- 
terest she took in subjects, the readiness of atten- 

75 



Bnne C. %, JSotta 

tion and the magnanimity of affection witii which 
she responded to every just claim, whether of things 
or of persons. It is the common complaint in our 
democratic time that distinctive individuality is per- 
ishing, the crowd of people growing ever more alike, 
wearing the stamp of a conventional average and 
taking their cue from the established standards of the 
community in which they move. Quite otherwise 
was it with Mrs. Botta. She drew her life direct 
from principles of conduct and sources of sentiment 
within her own soul. Her strong reason and good 
taste kept her free from everything eccentric or in- 
surrectionary. But her independence, sincerity, im- 
pulsive force were always salient qualities full of 
attraction. They caused her to stand out in sharp 
contrast amidst the throng of those who have no 
vigorous inner life of their own, no courageous con- 
victions or directing sympathies ; but who take their 
guidance from fashion, accident, or caprice. Always 
true to herself, one always knew where to find her 
and what to expect from her, and was never in any 
danger of being deceived. She was thoroughly 
earnest in her appreciations, genuine and fresh in 
her sentiments, brave, kind, and tactful in her 
expressions. 

Nor did advancing years and familiar intercourse 
with the world prevail in the least to rob her of these 
noble traits of spirit. Amidst all the conventional- 
izing influences of her social position, confronting the 
constant examples of stolidity and pride and fraud 
and mechanical routine thrust upon her attention, 

76 



a ^Tribute 

she remained to the last sympathetic, trustful, and 
generous, ever ready to forget herself in devotion to 
another. Such an instance is worthy of all honor, 
and deserves to be set before the public as a model; 
for nothing is more frequently seen among conspic- 
uous members of society than a thin veneer of affected 
virtues over a hard polish of manner, meant to hide 
that utter disenchantment with others which results 
from a moral and esthetic deadness within themselves. 
Mrs. Botta made her house for many years the 
constant scene of a delicate, varied, and unstinted 
hospitality, a virtue well deserving recognition at a 
date when hospitality seems fast becoming one of 
the lost arts. In this particular, she set a beautiful 
and notable example. A continual succession of 
celebrated people from other lands, and unnumbered 
strangers introduced by letter or by circumstances, in 
addition to her own friends and acquaintances, were 
her favored guests. She was an ideal hostess, look- 
ing carefully after the comfort and the wishes of each 
one, yet so quietly and deftly as to give him the im- 
pression that she was taking no trouble, and to make 
him feel completely at home and at liberty. She had 
in the reception and management of company a tact 
and charm equaled by few. She was free from every 
touch of pride or vanity or ostentation. Perfectly 
self-possessed, she never drew notice to herself, but 
gave unconstrained heed to everybody else. She 
mediated and modulated the company while not 
appearing to do anything except to be at ease. 
When conversing with any one, she gave him her 

77 



Bnne C. X. asotta 

undivided attention, not, as some hostesses are seen 
to do, distributing her glances in every direction. 
Nor could she ever be guilty of that other rudeness, 
less gross, but equally faulty — paying merely an out- 
side attention to the outside of her interlocutor, as 
if her spirit were absent and his non-existent, leaving 
only two bodies face to face. She intuitively gave 
spiritual attention to the spirit, and not personal 
attention to the person. Beautiful manners are the 
revealing signals of beautiful characters. Her man- 
ners, while entirely unobtrusive, were nigh perfect, 
expressing sympathetic respect for others, born of 
self-respect and a deep and pure sensibility. 

If Mrs, Botta found more in society than most 
persons do, it was because she carried more there. 
Many a one has that poverty of soul, that slowness 
of emotion, that sterility of fancy, which are able 
quickly to bankrupt the richest paradise. A few 
have, based on universal wealth of endowments, that 
great power of idealization which discovers heroes and 
geniuses in beggar-boys, princes in tramps, and with 
its own luster easily gilds even the drossiest image. 
This royal prerogative, so often scorned, belonged 
eminently to the dear friend here commemorated. 
She had abundance of intellect, heart, imagination, 
faith, romance, disinterestedness. Furnished with 
this magic outfit, she never wanted for objects to 
draw her glance, enlist her interest, and evoke her 
energies. In the course of her life she befriended a 
multitude of struggling writers, artists, adventurers, 
and others, bestowing on them unwearied efforts at 

78 



B tribute 

encouragement and assistance. If in many instances 
they proved ungrateful or unworthy, the disappoint- 
ment did not embitter or discourage her, but left her 
sympathies just as prompt and vivid as before, when- 
ever a new case presented itself. 

Her faculties, life, and experience were exception- 
ally complete on all sides. A philanthropist both by 
native disposition and by cultivated habitudes, so 
ardently patriotic that whatever affected the welfare 
of her country was as close and dear as any personal 
interest, filled with a public spirit which took in- 
telligent and sympathizing part in the institutions and 
events of the community about her, while she was 
not in any sense a censorious reformer or agitator — 
she earnestly desired the improvement of our present 
social order, and conscientiously fulfilled those duties 
of citizenship incumbent on every member of a free 
State. But this attention to a larger circle withdrew 
no interest or fidelity from the domestic sphere. Her 
private life suffered nothing from any conflict with 
foreign claims. She was as devoted to the members 
of her household, and as punctual and efficient in the 
economic details of the daily round, as though not 
concerned with anything else. Fond as she was of 
social festivities, and fitted to shine in them, she was 
not a whit less contented with the tasks and solaces 
of solitude. Her literary taste and faculty, revealed 
in her numerous original poems and in her admirable 
" Handbook of Universal Literature" ; her love and 
practice of the art of sculpture, in which she reached 
a high degree of excellence ; her intense sensibility 

79 



Bnne C. X. »otta 

to all forms of beauty, whether pictorial, plastic, ver- 
bal, or musical, — supplied her, even in the lone- 
liest retreat, with employments and satisfactions that 
left no vacancy. 

A character so meritorious, a culture so ripe, an 
example so fully rounded, deserve to be embalmed 
in praise. Could society be replenished with speci- 
mens of the type of personality, experience, and 
manners she displayed, its gifted frequenters would 
no longer have to complain of what the sensitive 
Keats bewailed as "the inhuman dearth of noble 
natures." She exerted not merely a pleasing, but 
likewise an educational and uplifting influence on 
those around her. And the privilege of admission to 
her intimate friendship was a delight and an incentive 
never to be forgotten by its sharers. New-York is 
an enormous city, but to those who knew and loved 
her, it is appreciably poorer since she left it. 

And is this the end ? Remains there not, deeply 
hidden, some glorious sequel? Shall we never see 
her any more whom to see was always so pure a 
pleasure and so choice a benefit? It is a childish 
shallowness to confound with the mystic substance 
of her spirit the mere bodily dust which transparently 
veiled her and has now been laid in the grave. 
Spirits, impenetrably concealed from external ob- 
servation, in this material state are known to others 
only through their bodies and through signals sent 
thence. But we are invincibly aware that our bodies 
are merely the garments of our spirits. And we both 
instinctively surmise and speculatively think that in 

80 



B ^Tribute 

other states of being, disembodied spirits may mu- 
tually recognize one another, without any material 
intervention, by direct sight or by perfect interpene- 
tration. The shedding of the flesh would seem to 
carry no threat of annihilation for the mind which 
can grasp the idea of God and think everything in 
unbounded and incorruptible universals. Remove 
all limits or unessential appurtenances from the con- 
scious personality, and its awful unity, so far from 
being destroyed, fills infinitude. 

In some superior world where perfection makes its 
home, we shall know again the unique friend — not 
to be confounded with any other component of the 
race — to whom we here pay our heartfelt but halt- 
ing and ineffectual tribute. It must be so ; the secret 
instincts of our nature expect it, the prefiguring 
preparations of destiny prognosticate it, the intrin- 
sic fitness of things requires it. That the grandest 
achievement compassed on earth and the dearest 
hope wrung from heaven should perish together in 
discordant bafflement at the low barrier of mortality, 
would be an incongruity which is incredible in a uni- 
verse pervaded by rational purpose. It cannot be 
that that precious and sacred personality, long so 
graciously manifested to us in physical form ; that 
chosen and honest spirit who once experienced 
among us such intellectual clearness, such expansive 
goodness, such affectional fervor, such transcendent 
aspiration, and through their expressive symbols 
awakened in others such profound and abiding re- 
sponses — it cannot be that all this is now utterly 

6 8l 



Bnne C. X. aSotta 

extinguished, its evolution and promise as transient 
and unmeaning as the flash of a firefly in the night! 

When we look on the large populations of 
metropolitan capitals, indiscriminately merged in 
struggling masses of sensuality and egotism, with 
apparently no more free distinction of persons than 
in so many conglomerations of vermin, it is easy to 
conceive them doomed to indiscriminate effacement 
in oblivion. But when we contemplate, as in the 
instance of our beloved friend, an individuality which 
stands apart in clear integrity, nobly differenced from 
the miscellaneous crowd by its self-centered origi- 
nality of character and progressive determination of 
its own experience, all that is most intuitive in our 
reason, with all that is most authoritative in our 
conscience, confesses the seal of God, and seals the 
prophecy of immortality. Can such a spirit, so royal 
in its range of thought, so divine in its magnanim- 
ity of emotion, so immense in its dignity of will, be 
carelessly blotted out forever? Believe it who can 
and will; 1 cannot and will not believe it. 

God is infinite, and his brood are infinites. After 
their mortal eclipse is over, the eternal children will 
see one another and the eternal Father in that Beatific 
Vision which, without shadow or reflection, is itself 
its own substantial subject, object, ground, light, 
eye, mediation, and fruition — every determinate dis- 
tinction including the indivisible whole. That such 
a result is not only possible but is the actual law of 
creation, we already have overwhelming evidence in 
the experienced fact that generic unity is perfectly 

82 



a n:rlbute 

compatible with individual plurality. Is not the 
whole of a genus potentially in every individual rep- 
resentative of it? And may not every potentiality 
become actualized? God is the absolutely determined 
genus of free mind. All individual minds, freely de- 
termined after his pattern, are taken up into his per- 
fection, and will thus eternally know themselves in 
his eternal knowledge. For whatever God knows, 
thereby exists, and it is inconceivable that he should 
ever forget anything. Therefore the chosen spirits 
we have known and sensibly lost, still are, and we 
shall find them again. 



83 




flmpreeeions 

By Charles Dudley Warner, Hartford, Conn. 



|T is impossible to give in a short paper any 
adequate conception of Mrs. Botta. She was 
one of those rare natures which make us 
think better of the world and better of our possibil- 
ities — that is, she was an inspiration to all lives she 
came in contact with. It is very rare, in my experi- 
ence, that a person with so many gifts as she had, 
holds them all in such harmony of development ; very 
rare that genius goes to make an even-balanced 
character. She had, in a marked degree, the artistic 
temperament and the sensitiveness and intuition of 
the poet, and persons so gifted are apt to move in 
orbits more or less eccentric. But her genius was 
always guided by a sweet and sane spirit. 

Even in her youth she was foremost in a little band 
of singers and students who made American letters 
respected, and diffused in a commercial society the 
liberating influence of art and of literature. Our 
obligation to these enthusiastic pioneers in refine- 
ment and culture should not be forgotten. The debt 

84 



•ffnipressions 

to Mrs. Botta is not OFily in that wiiich her pen pro- 
duced, but it is for the character that ennobled social 
life. In this generation, 1 do not know any one else 
who did more by her influence, her spiritual and 
intellectual force, to lift that life into a high plane of 
rational living. 

In later years her artistic nature expressed itself in 
sculpture, and the talent she exhibited in this art 
shows that if she had been trained in it or had been 
able to give herself unreservedly to it, she would 
have attained high rank as a sculptor. This opinion 
does not rest upon the partiality of friends, but up- 
on the judgment of artists who were unbiased by 
friendship. 

She had, indeed, talents of a high order in litera- 
ture and in the plastic art; but she was equally dis- 
tinguished by the gifts for friendship, for sympathy, 
for helpfulness. And these gifts were strengthened 
and made effective by a native charm and gracious- 
ness which made her presence always sunshine. It 
seems rude to attempt coolly to analyze the attractive- 
ness — the charm — of this noble woman. Those who 
had the pleasure of her friendship, however, would 
say, 1 think, that it was her love for humanity that 
drew so much love upon herself. She had the genius 
to be loved, and in return her sympathies were very 
wide and her friendship sincere. 

It is not necessary that I shall dwell upon the fact 
that her home was the center of hospitality and the 
meeting-place of whatever was best in letters and 
art, native or foreign. Hospitality is a common virtue 

6* 85 



Bnnc C. %. JSotta 

with us. but hers was especially distinguished by tact 
and without the least ostentation, so that her visitors 
looked upon her home not as a place of entertain- 
ment, but as a home. In time she came to discharge 
almost a public function in this sort of hospitality, 
and it was recognized as dictated by goodness of 
heart and appreciation of genius. 

But this is only a small part of her claim to our 
affectionate remembrance and admiration. She was 
one of the most truly helpful persons I ever knew. 
Many give money and good words ; she gave herself. 
Every young aspirant in whom she discovered talent, 
however unknown and friendless, had in her a friend. 
She spared no personal labor to give their talent a 
chance and a hearing. She opened her house, she 
used her social position to aid them, she encouraged 
them by her untiring sympathy. Her charity for all 
who needed help was as wide and deep as her enjoy- 
ment of the best in intellectual and social life. It 
was this rare union of sympathy with the struggling 
and unknown, and intense delight in the society of 
those whose genius had won them position in the 
world, that gave a unique character to her hospital- 
ity, preserved in her own soul the freshness of youth 
and the aspiration for beauty, and made her conspic- 
uous among women of her generation. Her intel- 
lectual discrimination never grew dull, her sympathies 
never grew cool, her heart never grew old. 



86 




a Beautiful Xlfe 

By Mrs. L. G. Runkle, New-York. 



To Professor V. Botta : 

1^^^^^ HOUSE," says Emerson, "should bear wit- 
ness in all its economy that human culture 
is the end to which it is built and garnished. 
It is not for festivity. It is not for sleep. But the 
pine and the oak shall gladly descend from the moun- 
tains to uphold the roof of men as faithful and neces- 
sary as themselves, to be the shelter always open to 
the good and the true — a hall which shines with 
sincerity, brows ever tranquil, and a demeanor im- 
possible to disconcert." 

For more than forty years such a house has stood 
in this hurrying city, extending its serene welcome 
to poet and painter, to critic and story-teller, to 
sculptor and actor, to scholar and traveler, to culti- 
vated men and women whose lives were not the lives 
of toys and trinkets. The pictures on the walls, the 
bronzes and casts and photographs, and even the 
books that overran the library and climbed the stairs 
to invade and take possession of all the undefended 
spaces, were, many of them, memorials of lofty 

87 



anne C. X. 30otta 

friendships with gifted souls. It was the "House 
Beautiful," and its gracious mistress was the wife 
of Professor Vincenzo Botta, of the University of the 
City of New-York. 

If, as Landor says, " that person is great who can 
call together the most select company when it pleases 
him," Mrs. Botta was entitled to this laudation. The 
New-York that was first tributary to her was a rich, 
crude, unthinking community, — not cosmopolitan, 
not even of an interesting heterogeneousness ; a com- 
munity where Mrs. Potiphar led the fashion, and 
Solomon Gunnybags stood for conservative worth, 
and the Settum-Downes for the "exclusive" set. 
Out of modest places she gathered the citizens of the 
kingdom of Mind instead of the kingdom of Mammon. 
Names that are hardly remembered now, represented 
then some achievement and much earnest endeavor — 
Mrs. Welby, Mrs. Brooks, Mrs. Embury, Mrs. Oakes 
Smith, Mrs. Kirkland, that lovely personality Mrs. 
Osgood, and the noble and serious Mrs. Child. In 
Mrs. Botta's presence people were at their best. Her 
sincerity was the touchstone that evoked an an- 
swering sincerity and simplicity. With her, Dr. 
Griswold would forego his prejudices ; Poe was gen- 
erous in his judgments and self-restrained ; Willis 
forgot his affectations ; and Morris ceased to be an 
American Tom Moore, and became an agreeable and 
kindly singer of pleasant songs. 

To her hospitable house came Tuckerman, elegant 
and accomplished ; the handsome young poet and 
painter, Cranch ; George Ripley, most admirable of 

88 



a JBeautitul Xife 

talkers, most faithful of friends, most genial of critics ; 
Margaret Fuller, whom her lovers called the " Only," 
and her dislikers the "Terror"; Charles F. Briggs; 
the Carters ; Grace Greenwood ; the Gary sisters ; 
Mrs. Howe ; Curtis, the golden youth. Here the 
Stoddards, and the Stedmans, and " H. H." were 
familiar figures, and Bayard Taylor and Count Gu- 
rowski frequent visitors. Here came Emerson for 
quiet household visits, and here the sad-eyed Delia 
Bacon brought her sorrows and was comforted. 

It is not possible even to name the friends of the 
house, for besides the best-known of the writers and 
actors and painters, there were scores and scores of 
delightful people who were not even well known, 
but simply delightful ; for admission here depended 
on none of the accidents of life, on none of the arbi- 
trary social discriminations, but on personal quality, 
on "distinction" in the finest sense. For years it 
seemed as if this were the one truly cosmopolitan 
drawing-room in the city, because it drew the best 
from all sources. Italy and England, France and 
Germany, Spain, Russia, Norway, and Hungary, 
Siam, China, India, and Japan, sent guests hither. 
Liberals and conservatives, peers and revolutionists, 
holders of the most ancient traditions and advocates 
of the most modern theories — all found their wel- 
come, if they deserved it, and each took away a new 
respect for the position of his opponent. 

The influence of such a social center in a commercial 
city cannot be exaggerated. Yet Mrs. Botta would 
have said that what she did anybody might do be- 

89 



anne C. X. »otta 

cause it was so simple. Perhaps the Celtic blood in 
her veins gave her her unflagging youth and grace ; 
perhaps it gave her that chivalrous spirit which led 
her to espouse thecauseof the weak, of the struggling 
man, or country, or idea. She was the daughter of 
a gallant young Irish gentleman who spent the four 
years of his life from sixteen to twenty in a political 
prison, and, coming afterward to Vermont, married 
a clear-sighted, self-poised, energetic New England 
girl. The child of this union inherited the poetry, 
the imagination, and the ardor of one parent, sin- 
gularly balanced by the good judgment and energy 
and "faculty" of the other. She was sent to the 
best schools, and excelled in her studies, and loved 
books, and wrote verses. But she also darned stock- 
ings beautifully, and knew how to make the very 
most of every opportunity of culture and experi- 
ence, and had the rarest common sense. She was 
still a very young woman when she made New-York 
her home, but she was already known as a poet, 
story-writer, and essayist. So long as she lived she 
was a student, an insatiable reader of the best things, 
and a talker in whose vivid speech these garnered 
ideas put on new values. She was full of artistic 
instincts also, that made her whole house lovely. 
She had a great talent for sculpture, doing work so 
beautiful that, had not her special bent been literary, 
she would have made a name in art. 

But with all her accomplishments, her true genius 
was moral. Life was the material with which she 
wrought. With a deep seriousness of nature, she 

90 



a JBcauttful Xife 

had a frolic lightness of temperament, an unerring 
tact, an idealism that nothing discouraged or abated. 
Always earnest, she was always sunny, serene, and 
joyous. She saw, as she once said, in the words of 
her friend Emerson, that nature has laid for each the 
foundations of a divine building, if the soul will build 
thereon. And her soul built thereon, and forever 
showed the way to all who beheld her. 

The largest mental hospitality, the simplicity that 
compelled simplicity, the liberal giving of her best 
that drew their best from all her acquaintances, the 
habit of living above all perturbations, all petty aims, 
all personal considerations — these made up the daily 
beauty of her life ; and though that mystery which 
is called death has now touched her, these remain 
forever the possession of humanity. 



91 




an lineal Moman 

By Edmund C. Stedman, New-York. 



My dear Mr. Botta : 

^T is not too early now — and I trust it is not 
too late — for me to say how fully I have 
realized the change in your life resulting from 
a loss of which none can declare. ' ' Thou know'st 't is 
common ." All who remember the conditions of your 
former happiness feel that your trouble is the graver 
for the unusual term of felicity which it brought 
to an end. Fate is so uncompromising ! The man 
whom it favors most is sure to be overwhelmed with 
sorrows in their full proportion. 

Mrs. Botta was in truth no ordinary companion, no 
woman of a common type. It is more than thirty 
years since you first welcomed me to your beautiful 
home. During this period I too seldom availed myself 
of its privileges, always generously extended, and 
therefore I did not often meet your wife. But so 
vivid and helpful were the impressions made by that 
home and its mistress that it seems to me as if I were 
your frequent guest. Like every one else, I found 
Mrs. Botta absolutely unspoiled by her social and in- 

92 



an f Deal ICloman 

tellectual prominence, and so genuinely good that siie 
suffered no peril from envy, ingratitude, — not even 
from the possession of everybody's honor and affec- 
tion. Her grace, her personal charm, her gift of per- 
petual youth, were those of an ideal womanhood. 
She was altruism itself; at least, her only trace of 
selfishness was in the delight of giving aid and hap- 
piness to others. 

And what a life was hers ! She and you were con- 
cerned in what was active and promising throughout 
the slow advance of culture in this city — now the 
gathering-place of artists and men of letters. No new- 
comer can know how much she, with her tact, sym- 
pathy, aspiration, did for our intellectual life. Some 
years ago I begged her to write her reminiscences. 
This she was too modest to bring herself to do. It is 
a satisfaction now to learn that the preparation of a 
memorial volume is in progress. The production of 
such a volume, which cannot fail to be of importance 
alike to the reading public and to the writing guild, 
and of the deepest interest to your personal friends, 
will afford you consolation in your years of proud and 
sad remembrance. 



93 




One of tbe Jfine Souls 

By Miss Juliet Goodwin, Newport, R. I. 



^MERSON says, " 'T is the fine souls who 
serve us, and not what is called fine so- 
ciety." This seems peculiarly applicable to 
Mrs. Botta. She seemed to fill one's idea of a 
friend, — apprehensive, comprehensive, and sympa- 
thetic. 1 am glad to be able to claim a share of 
her regard in the past days — "days, alas! that are 
no more." 

My first recollection of Mrs. Botta (then Miss Anne 
C. Lynch) is that of seeing her at a ball in Newport. 
She was then the private secretary of Henry Clay, 
and accompanied him on that occasion. Mr. Clay 
was a personal and political friend of my grand- 
father, the Hon. Asher Robbins; an introduction to 
him naturally brought me in contact with her whom 
I had known by reputation as a poetess. She had 
already edited the "Rhode Island Book," which held, 
among other contributions of local authors, her fine 
poem on Paul preaching at Athens — suggested by 
the celebrated cartoon of Raphael. I was much 

94 



One of tbe 4Ftne Souls 

impressed with the force of her personality; in ap- 
pearance she seemed to me to resemble Jenny Lind, 
partly, perhaps, from the contour of her head and 
the way of wearing her hair. 

In subsequent visits to New-York, — she having 
married Professor Botta, a well-known Italian scholar, 
in 1855, — I often was a guest at her literary reunions, 
which became quite celebrated — the nearest ap- 
proach New-York ever made to the French salon. 
One was sure to meet there the savants, wits, and 
artists of the day of both hemispheres — not only 
Bryant, Bancroft, and Emerson, but Froude, Herbert 
Spencer, Matthew Arnold, and many more. Mrs. 
Botta had a very quiet way of entertaining ; but, en- 
dowed with a musical voice, and that sixth sense, — 
namely, tact, — she succeeded admirably in fusing the 
somewhat incongruous social elements which some- 
times were found in her drawing-rooms. Her love 
for distinguished people was founded, 1 think, more 
upon a genuine respect and enthusiasm for talent 
and genius, than upon a love for ermine and purple. 
She did not wait for success where she thought she 
had found ability, but gave all the encouragement 
in her power to develop a latent gift. Her friends 
know of many such instances. 

" The foundation of culture, as of character, is the 
moral sentiment." This was true of Mrs. Botta. 
She had great integrity, and her religious sympathies 
were broad and deep, and her intellectual efforts 
emanated largely from them and her humanity. A 
noble cause never appealed in vain to her for aid and 

95 



anne C. X. aSotta 

sympathy. In these days of pinchbeck men and 
women who obtain in society a false prominence by 
a rich setting, it is pleasant to remember one who 
had real intellectual jewels in the pure-gold setting 
of a lofty character. 



q6 




a ^Tribute 

By Mrs. A. H. Leonowens, Cassel, Germany. 



We have given what we ought to grief; 
Now let us do our duty. 

^iHEN across the wide Atlantic there flashed the 
sad news that Anne C. Lynch Botta had 
passed away from among the living, there 
was felt a pang which, like a spell, benumbed the 
faculties, froze the heart, and hushed the voice. It 
was as if the chill and gloom of the grave, upborne 
from the subterranean depths that had engulfed so 
many and such deeply loved and venerated friends, 
had enveloped the clear blue sky, and had driven 
from it all the light and sunshine forever; as if day 
would never again dawn ; as if no counteracting 
spell would ever mitigate the anguish and desolation 
of those almost interminable hours. When one 
strove to take up the thus severed thread of one's 
daily life, to speak, to act, to rally one's self to the 
immediate, the inevitable, it seemed almost a sacri- 
lege, a profanation of one's holy grief, a forgetfulness 
of one's irreparable loss. 
7 97 



Bnne C. X. aSotta 

But at length the "grief-deafened ear" begins to 
perceive the loving voices around, and the chilled 
heart begins to thaw; hot tears, which blind the eyes 
and scorch the cheeks, bring relief; the lost friend 
whom we craved to see again, seems to draw near to 
comfort, to solace us — then what a flood of memo- 
ries, recollections, and pictures come crowding in 
upon us ! Our lips are unchained, there arises in our 
hearts a desire unspeakable, strong as life itself, to 
speak, to cry aloud, to waylay the careless, the indif- 
ferent, the stranger, if only to give some feeble voice 
to our tribute of love and praise ; and when to this 
desire is added the earnest request of one whom she 
loved with all the strength and depth of her great 
soul, it becomes a labor not only of love, but an im- 
perative call of duty, which must be obeyed — but 
with all fear and trembling ; for what man or what 
woman shall dare to think that he or she has fathomed 
the impersonal and illimitable soul of another ! And 
so we take up our pen with fear and trembling, and 
the old wound, hidden out of sight, begins again to 
bleed; we are pierced with the old sense of anguish, 
which "Time" itself cannot heal; we realize once 
again that we cannot part with some friends, we can- 
not let our angels go, — nay, not even that archangels 
may come in. We linger in the old familiar haunts — 
Long Branch, Newport, R. 1., the Adirondack moun- 
tains and lakes — where we passed many a summer 
holiday and held such deep and joyous converse. We 
cannot again find another such spirit, — so dear, so 
sweet, so gracious ; what is there then left us but to 



a Ztibute 

let the hot burning tears flow again, and to find no 
comfort anywhere beneath the great arch above us! 

To strangers, perhaps, this passionate grief may 
seem excessive and exaggerated ; but to friends — if 
not more intimate, with at least a clearer insight into 
a character so pure, generous, and elevated — it will 
surely seem inadequate ; for the loss of such a life, 
and of an influence so benign and wide reaching, is 
truly immeasurable. It would seem as if some 
revelation, some inlet to a higher and loftier life, had 
been suddenly closed upon us, and we were left 
henceforth to grope our way in clouds and darkness. 

My first meeting with Mrs. Botta was in the year 
1868, at Hastings, on the Hudson River, and at the 
house of dear mutual friends. She was then in the 
full and perfected maturity of her noble womanhood. 
She had a slight graceful figure, a little above medium 
height, and a broad masculine brow, on which will, 
energy, thought, and intellect seemed to have 
stamped themselves; for years cannot be lived through 
earnestly, passionately, without leaving their marks 
behind, and the vast amount of reading, study, and re- 
flection which had been forced into those early years 
of isolation on Shelter Island, had left a deep, thought- 
ful, almost sad, expression on her face, which in 
conversation lighted up. Her eyes were large, deeply 
sunk, and of a tender blue ; the mouth was large, 
but well cut; the chin was well shaped and strong; 
and her smile seemed half to invite and half to re- 
strain. Even at first sight she appeared like one 
who towered above her sex, at the very moment 

9Q 



Bnnc C. X. 3Botta 

when she was quite simple, natural, and most 
anxious to please. Our introduction was the work 
of a brief moment, but there was a difference between 
that and every subsequent moment of my life. 

She began at once to question me, her large soft 
eyes glowing beneath her strong intellectual brow, 
on the present condition of women in the East, and 
Siam in particular.^ She was delighted to hear of the 
greater freedom allowed to Buddhist women. After 
discussing, with a knowledge which was surprising, 
the laws of the great Indian legislator, Manu, regard- 
ing women, which assert that " woman is by nature 
unfit for independence, and that a wife should assume 
the very qualities of her husband as a river loses 
itself in the sea," she remarked: "This is quite in 
contradiction to the old Vedic teachings, which every- 
where upheld the sanctity of ' motherhood '; and what 
if the husband should happen to be a villain, a 
profligate, or a murderer, should the wife then sub- 
merge herself into such a sea of iniquity?" "No, 
no," she added ; " Manu's laws may have been good 
enough for the childhood of the world, but for a good 
and loving wife to steep herself in the vices of her 
husband, is as abhorrent as it is inconceivable to every 
right-minded person." She ended, as was her wont, 
by pointing out the remedial forces latent in human 
nature itself, which tended to mitigate even those 

1 Mrs. Leonowens, the writer of this tribute, lived several years in 
Siam, as teacher and governess of the hereditary prince, the present 
king of that country. She is the author of " The English Governess 
at the Siamese Court," "The Romance of the Harem," and "Life 
and Travels in India." 



B tribute 

very unjust laws under which women lived and 
suffered, admitting that much of woman's subjection 
to man was natural, based on her need of protection 
to guard her from the dangers and perils to which her 
higher maternal functions exposed her, and that the 
seclusion of women in Hindostan and other coun- 
tries was due to a despotic system chiefly of Moham- 
medan origin, and adopted by the Hindoos merely in 
self-defense against the brutality of their foreign con- 
querors, which, like every other human institution, 
had passed in the course of ages into rigid etiquette. 
The fact that the use of the veil by the Persian 
women was considered a sign of dignity and social ele- 
vation, gave her intense satisfaction. "Now," said 
she, " I'll wear my veil as a mark of high rank and not 
of shamefacedness or inferiority" ; and the quaint old 
legend, that the beautiful Yathudara, the first cousin 
and wife of Buddha, rejected the veil on the occasion 
of her marriage, saying, "A good woman needs 
veiling no more than the sun or moon," was often 
quoted by her with a sense of real pleasure in the 
knowledge that women even in those ancient times 
possessed truer grandeur of thought and feeling than 
we are inclined to give them credit for. The un- 
feigned goodness which almost illumined her thought- 
ful face, the natural sympathy which shone forth in 
her actions, drew me instinctively to her, although I 
had no idea then of the joy to be experienced, the les- 
sons to be learned, the subtle inspiring influences to be 
drawn from my intercourse with this one of the most 
remarkable of American literary women. Where on 



%nnc C. X. 3Botta 

earth can one ever find such subtly mingled majesty 
and goodness of heart ! 

Not long after our first meeting, 1 received an invi- 
tation to come early and dine at 25 West Thirty- 
seventh street, and of course lost no time in accepting 
the same. 1 shall never forget the reception that 
awaited me. I was utterly "uberrascht," as the Ger- 
mans would say. There was a depth, a joy, a rap- 
ture in that brief moment which constrain me even 
at this distance of time to regard it as one of the 
most memorable epochs of my life. The slight, grace- 
ful figure of the hostess stood at the head of the stair- 
case, on the second floor, and as 1 ascended the long 
flight of steps and approached her, she, with a sudden 
movement, flung her strong arms wide open, seized 
me, and clasped me close to her breast, as if i had been 
no stranger entering her house for the first time, but 
a long-lost friend just returned. I was utterly over- 
come; every barrier had been flung aside; it seemed 
as if something new, something divine, had descended 
upon me, I knew not where or whence — if not by 
reason of the virtue that had streamed out of this 
great soul into mine ; enough it was to know that I 
no longer felt alone, friendless, and a stranger on the 
great American continent. "And now you must 
mount yet another flight of steps and make the 
acquaintance of my mother." Hand in hand we 
mounted the stairs and entered the front bedroom 
adjoining the guest-chamber on the third story. It 
was a large, bright, sunny apartment, furnished with 
all the comforts that love and thought could suggest. 



a {Tribute 

Just by the large window, in a cozy arm-chair, sat an 
aged lady, her silver-gray hair gleaming under the 
sunlight and the folds of the daintiest of white lace 
caps. She was reading ; when we entered, she looked 
up, uncertain at first, not knowing who I was; then 
she greeted us with a smile that seemed in itself a 
benediction, and the expression of sweet content- 
ment that suffused her face gave one a sense of 
pleasure something like that which a fresh and beau- 
tiful flower awakens. Never before did white head 
seem so venerable as it then and there appeared, 
bending, as I saw it, over the head of a daughter al- 
most as gray, to fold her in her arms. 

That evening I met for the first time her husband, 
Mr. V. Botta, and, although to attempt to describe his 
peculiar power and influence over his gifted wife 
would be out of place in this brief sketch, neverthe- 
less one could not fail to perceive that his style of 
thought and expression, his accurate scientific read- 
ing, his thorough knowledge of the Latin and Italian 
classics, and his profound insight into human nature, 
were aids to her of which she spoke and wrote with 
the deepest sense of appreciation. "He strengthened 
her reasoning powers, touched her spirit, enlarged 
her horizon by filling her with admiration for scien- 
tific thought, and, above and beyond all, by having 
taught her to recognize the wonderful charm of that 
highest and purest form of love, — as distinguished 
from modern romantic love, passion, or platonic 
friendship, — the creation of an Italian, the immortal 
Dante." "Here is," she says in one of her letters, 

103 



Bnnc (J. %. JBotta 

"the germ of a grand future development, the un- 
folding of one of our dim but noblest instincts, deep 
sown and deathless as the soul itself, the beginning 
of that higher reverence for ' womanhood ' which 
will be crystallized into the purest and highest 
friendship between the sexes, without any 'earthlier' 
admixture of personal desires, as our race goes on 
evolving new and higher spiritual force." 

I would gladly linger on these memorable days of 
our first acquaintance, on the incommunicable charm 
of those tete-a-tete conversations, now sad, now re- 
flective, and anon soaring and joyous as the sky- 
lark's earliest spring song, or on the quiet, restful 
hours we usually spent in "Ma's room," as it was 
called, where " everything that interests Ma" would 
be introduced, where memories that were growing 
dim and half forgotten were renewed and dwelt 
upon : but the limits of this paper will not permit 
it; suffice to say that tears have often been brought 
into our eyes as the loving daughter related the early 
trials, privations, and noble struggles of her mother, 
and all she had done for her personally. No one 
who had not witnessed time and again the happy 
relations which existed between these two American 
women could ever fully realize how tenderly they 
loved each the other, how breathlessly the daughter 
listened, when the mother was tired and weary under 
the weight of years and growing infirmities, even 
to her most unreasonable rebukes and complainings. 
With all her talent, her wealth of personal advan- 
tages, her boundless hospitalities, social claims and 

104 



a a:rtbutc 

duties, amid a large literary and fashionable circle 
of friends and correspondents all over the world, — to 
her mother she was still a little child, obedient, lov- 
ing, timid. She brought everything she did — her 
drawings, paintings, poems, writings, models, a pretty 
cap trimmed or an old bonnet made over again, and all 
her dearest friends too — for her mother's approval. 
She went and came, tripping up and down those long 
flights of stairs, often weary, sometimes discouraged 
or disappointed and grieved, but always returning 
fresh, bright, and cheerful to "Ma's room" to re- 
late, like a young girl of fifteen, all that happened in 
her world of men and things. I have often heard 
them laughing merrily over some adventure or some 
funny incident — seemingly having what is so felici- 
tously termed " a good time together." Mrs. Lynch 
lived with her gifted, loving daughter until the end, 
and was to the last hour of her life her daughter's be- 
loved mother, friend, and adviser; and, in her turn, 
the daughter loved, cherished, and venerated her, 
brought her round all the sharp corners of old age 
and failing strength, persistently shutting her eyes 
to the last fact, until one day she awoke to the full 
realization that she must prepare to be parted from 
that mother who was the "sacred light" on the 
home altar, round whom she, her husband, and her 
whole household revolved . lived, moved, and had their 
mutual joys, sufferings, and forbearances. Here was 
the mother of the ancient " Zend-Avesta," the Scrip- 
tures of the Zoroastrian faith, so honored, so loved, 
so respected as to be almost enshrined. 1 know not 



Bnnc C. X. JBotta 

how to describe the gentle forbearance, the unspoken 
tenderness, with which she guarded, tended, and 
nursed her mother through the last years of her life. 
Her mother was now rarely, if ever, seen in the draw- 
ing-room ; once or twice, when some old friend from 
the West or from Washington happened to be pres- 
ent, she was, at her own request, assisted down- 
stairs. Whenever she appeared, however, all would 
cluster around her; earnestly would she listen to 
the conversation, whatever it chanced to be, — of 
love, adventure, or discovery, — the narrator being 
always forewarned "to speak loud enough for Ma 
to hear." When she was tired and wished to retire, 
all would rise from their chairs, erect and still as one 
stands in a church, while "the mother," smiling and 
bowing, supported by her daughter, was led out and 
helped up to her room. 

It was on one of those memorable days, after she 
began to feel that the parting was very near, that I 
called to see her. 1 found her with her mother, who 
had been washed and dressed as daintily as ever, and 
seated in her large arm-chair. After the usual warm 
embrace, she returned to her stool at her mother's 
feet, with her interlocked hands on her mother's 
knees, her strong intellectual face, full of love, turned 
up to the one looking down on it ; they appeared 
quite absorbed, taking a certain pleasure in just gaz- 
ing the one at the other. When this silent exchange 
of the holiest affection was ended, the daughter laid 
her head on her mother's knees, and the aged, feeble 
hands stroked that massive gray head, while her 

1 06 



U ^Tribute 

mother said in a trembling and almost querulous 
voice: ''You must go now, Anne; your friend is 
waiting for you; you can't spend all your time with 
your old mother. You must — I beg of you to go; 
your house, your husband, your social duties, your 
studio up-stairs, — all claim a share of your attention." 

Hard was the battle between life and death. Nursed 
by a heroic daughter, whose love and care knew no 
fatigue, the aged mother lived through that year and 
far into the next; but at last life yielded, and death 
conquered. 

The loving daughter was not crushed nor annihi- 
lated, as 1 expected to find her, but transfigured. With 
Archbishop French she could say : 

O life, O death, O world, O time, 
O grave, where all things flow, 

'T is yours to make our lot sublime 
With your great weight of woe. 

Though sharpest anguish hearts may wring, 

Though bosoms torn may be, 
Yet suffering is a holy thing; 

Without it, what were we ? 

From the bed of that lifeless mother she writes: 
"The majesty of death, the awe, the mystery which 
it awakens, are greater than 1 had ever conceived. 
My beloved mother, so necessary to me, the one 
being who both made me feel and kept me young, is 
gone — where? The strong, brave soul that inspired, 
encouraged, and so tenderly loved me in spite of all 

107 



Bnne C. %. JBotta 

my faults and shortcomings ! " " Now only do 1 realize 
how much she was to me, and how great a blank her 
absence will create in my life." "Death makes even 
the vilest wretch great and majestic ; how much more, 
then, the good, noble, and brave ! " " Her last conscious 
words were full of love and tenderness; there is in 
the last drop of love pressed out of a mother's dying 
heart, something divine and holy to the ears of an 
only child; my grief, inconsolable as it is, urges me 
on to more energetic action. I am longing to do some- 
thing ; but, alas ! 1 never seem to get any further than 
trying to reach after the beauty which I find scattered 
everywhere." 

After this sad event, she began to take a more 
lively interest than ever in, and to devote herself even 
more exclusively to, the training and education of little 
Raphael Lynch, her grandnephew, and the two in- 
teresting young girls intrusted to her care. Raphael 
was a pretty, fair-haired boy of about seven years 
of age, eager, intelligent, and running over with joy 
and merriment, and perpetually asking questions. 
He attended a good kindergarten school near by, and 
she might be seen any morning in the year walking 
up Fifth Avenue, little Raphael running along by her 
side, intent on studying child-nature, endeavoring to 
interest and draw him out, answering his innumer- 
able questions, then putting in a little question of her 
own which stimulated thought and helped to awaken 
the boy's powers of perception, observation, reflection, 
and expression. The friendship which existed be- 
tween the great-aunt and nephew was perfectly de- 

io8 



U tribute 

lightful ; the ardent boy simply idolized his "Auntie," 
and she strove to make life brighter and happier not 
only for her little grandnephew, but for her young 
ladies, and, in fact, for the youth and age around, 
leading them on so wisely, firmly, yet almost un- 
awares to themselves, teaching them how to look at 
things, opening their minds and ears to the wonders 
of art and nature, unfolding their consciences and 
deepening their religious aspirations. In teaching 
young persons, I found that she pursued a perfectly 
systematized plan of education, thought out and pre- 
pared by herself with the utmost care and research, 
beginning with universal chronology, history, geog- 
raphy, and literature, thence to particular epochs of 
the history of different nations, following these up 
with a prolonged reading and study of Greek history, 
poetry, and art, then Roman history, medieval Italy and 
the Elizabethan literature, ending off with the study 
of the best modern productions, with especial regard 
to science, its wonderful inventions, discoveries, and 
improvements. No wonder then that under such a 
liberal system of education she reaped "golden har- 
vests," and that her efforts were so supremely suc- 
cessful. Little Raphael, however, did not live long 
enough to realize her dream of a noble youth and an 
ideal manhood ; he died just as he was preparing to 
enter college, deeply loved and mourned by all his 
school-fellows, his poor mother, and his grandaunt, 
who, no one knows better than 1, had so lovingly, so 
studiously sought to shape his young life after the 
highest ideal of self-sacrificing love and goodness. 

109 



Bnnc C. %. JSotta 

Yet another point of interest in that delightful 
home in New-York city, was Mrs. Botta's studio on 
the fourth floor. Here one realized more fully the 
wonderful many-sidedness of her character. Here a 
long table covered with green baize stood by the 
window; on the wall just above it were hung crayon 
portraits of herself and her husband, the work of 
Samuel Lawrence, an eminent artist of England ; both 
these portraits are admirable and true to life, but 
on the brow and large, deep eyes of Mrs. Botta, 
that ever-present restless yearning after the "ideal 
and the beautiful " which was the most striking of 
her characteristics, is once for all caught and por- 
trayed. I have caught the same wistful, yearning 
look on her face with a thrill of wonder, and waited 
and longed for it to come again ; for it always stirred 
within me something that might be called a mixture 
of joy and pain. Some cases containing her favorite 
books ran along the wall, plain, quiet, and homelike 
in tone and color; here there was nothing too fine, 
everything had the look of having been well used. 
On her table lay certain books, her constant com- 
panions and friends, — Emerson, Herbert Spencer, 
George Eliot, Longfellow, Whittier, " Light of Asia," 
Tennyson, Wordsworth, etc. In the drawers of her 
writing and study table were a series of blank books 
filled with choice and most exquisite extracts from 
all the great thinkers and teachers of the world. 
At some point or other of our conversation, she 
would dash open one of these drawers and bring 
forth the treasures she had gathered from all sources. 



a Ztibutc 

and sit there brooding, questioning, pondering; 
these were her gems, the heirlooms of the ages — 
the absolute, the eternal truth, pressed out of the 
bibles of the world ! It was worth crossing the 
Atlantic to spend an evening alone with her in that 
fourth-story studio, to catch the gleams of those wise, 
far-seeing eyes, to feel the touch of that soul thirsting 
after wisdom, the ideal, the beautiful, as the hart 
panteth after the water-brooks. The walls of the 
studio were hung with all kinds of bas-reliefs, models, 
busts, statues, the mantelpiece crowded with pic- 
tures, paintings, photographs. The middle of the 
room was generally occupied with whatever bit of 
sculpture she happened to be working at, which 
would be cast aside a dozen times, even when she 
had almost put the last touches to it, if she failed to 
embody the expression she strove to portray. If not 
gifted with special genius for any one of the fine arts, 
she certainly possessed a passionate love of abstract 
beauty for its own sake, and an ardent desire to ex- 
press herself through several forms of art, as her 
paintings, sculptures, poems and other writings will 
show. It is easy enough to recognize, when it has 
been made clear to us, the work of a great genius, a 
world-renowned poet or famous novelist, but our 
blind eyes must be anointed before we can perceive 
all the spiritual beauty of those with whom we are 
brought into familiar contact. With the love and 
feeling of a true artist, but with a certain lack of con- 
fidence in herself, she worked unceasingly in her 
studio, devoting herself exclusively during the latter 



annc C. X. JBotta 

part of her life to modeling and sculpture; and if her 
works are not great and beautiful in the highest 
degree, they are at least noble and dignified: they 
seemed, if not wholly, at least in some small mea- 
sure, to satisfy her intense esthetic and poetic sense, 
helping her to realize, even if afar off, something of 
the wonderful power and majesty of a great creative 
genius, which in all its manifestations is one and the 
same, differing only in degree, from the weaving of a 
bird's nest to the colossal works of a Michelangelo. 

Another striking characteristic of Mrs. Botta was 
that she seemed to have a mission to teach and 
instruct youth, and that she proved herself almost 
an inspired guide to many of the youth of New-York 
city. Her first act was to lead them to study with 
her personally, or under her direction, history and 
literature, then gradually to lead them in some chan- 
nel of art, of industry, literature, or of helping others 
to help themselves. How enthusiastically she was 
followed and obeyed by a cluster of ardent, loving 
young friends ! It would appear that even when at 
school the girls of her class elected her as their 
teacher, and she considered it her duty to hear 
their tasks before they assembled in the class-room. 
Thus it was that she succeeded in winning all hearts 
from her very girlhood, not only by her kindness, 
but by the tact and delicacy with which she treated 
them. It is safe to say that no tribute so exalted 
was ever paid to any self-appointed teacher of Amer- 
ican youth, if we take in consideration the age, the 
rank, position, character, and abilities of many of 



a ^Tribute 

her pupils ; only an overmastering personality could 
thus have succeeded in winning an eager obedience 
from youth and old age alike. One of the secrets 
of this overmastering personality was the good- 
tempered way in which she took rebuke from any 
one whom she knew to be sincere, and there was 
something really noble in her bearing when she 
heard herself misjudged or depreciated — she was 
never moved to anger, nor did she even attempt 
any defense or self-justification ; having listened with 
quiet dignity, she would smile and pass on to some- 
thing else. To this power we must in great mea- 
sure ascribe her wonderful influence over the young; 
the effect of this rare tranquillity of spirit was most 
magical on some of her young proteges. I heard a 
young girl once say of her: " She is great enough to 
have been an inspired prophetess of olden times, 
and tender enough to have been the mother of our 
dear Saviour." Such were the words of impassioned 
praise that fell from the lips of a young motherless 
Roman Catholic girl, one of the many whom Mrs. 
Botta had taught and befriended. 

In dealing with people too she displayed the greatest 
delicacy, reserve, and tact ; nevertheless some there 
were who complained — and this complaint, with her 
rare candor, she admitted as perfectly just — that she 
was apt to idealize and then to be disappointed in them ; 
hence arose coldness and estrangement between her- 
self and one or more persons whom she had at first 
so generously helped and befriended ; wounded self- 
love made these persons incapable of doing her jus- 
8 113 



Bnne Q. X. JBotta 

tice, or even of understanding her aright. To be 
sure, by some sudden display of aims and motives so 
different from those with which she had accredited 
them, some persons fell from the high place in her 
affections to which she was wont to lift them, but 
the blame, if there be any, must be ascribed to where 
it justly belongs, — that she should cease to idealize is 
a quite natural result ; for it was the whole aim of her 
life to live in strictest harmony with the dictates of her 
conscience. But for all that, in no one instance has a 
friend who proved worthy of that name been dropped 
even when she found the friend quite changed in all 
his former aims and views ; in fact, her purely human 
interest in such a friend would become, if anything, 
deeper and stronger. She was drawn by a sort of 
magnetic sympathy and admiration to an individual 
who had gone over to a new line of thought and ac- 
tion from a deep sense of honest conviction ; and on 
one occasion, when a friend expressed surprise at her 
intense admiration of one whose views were entirely 
opposed to hers, she at once quoted her favorite 
teacher, Emerson: "Our eyes are holden that we 
cannot see things that stare us in the face, until 
the hour arrives when the mind is ripened ; then 
we behold them, and the time when we saw them 
not appears like a dream." 

Those who heard her felt involuntarily that there 
was something even finer in the woman than any- 
thing she had ever said or done. Her memory too was 
wonderful, and although she always insisted that she 
was possessed of a *'dumb spirit," and could never 

"4 



H tTributc 

master but one language, it was very noticeable that 
few women could equal her when she was moved — 
which was very rarely — to speak ; whatever she had 
to say was well expressed, lucid, terse, emphatic, and 
direct, without any circumlocution or repetition ; and 
withal she had a charm of manner which was quite 
captivating, — so quiet, reserved, and modest that one 
seemed to be penetrated by the gentleness of the 
voice, manner, smile, bearing, as showing the ut- 
most purity and disinterestedness of soul. She made 
it, in fact, a rule of her life to be most courteous and 
gentle to all alike. She never appeared bored when 
conversing with persons less gifted or less well in- 
formed than she was herself; hence her power over 
others, especially the young. She absolutely seemed 
to infuse her own individual will into them as nat- 
urally as water runs down from a higher into a 
lower vessel. 

The richest gem, however, of all her mental and 
spiritual gifts was her boundless "hospitality": to all 
forms of thought, to every new discovery, to every 
spiritual idea, to all kinds of mendicants, rich and 
poor. Pagan and Christian, Jew and Gentile alike. 
Hers was by no means a lavish or prodigal hospitality, 
which flings its gifts and bounties to the four corners 
of the earth, regardless of where it falls or whom it 
benefits provided she herself is amused, entertained, 
and saved the pain and discomfort of seeing the want 
and suffering of her fellow-men around her. No; her 
hospitality was a grand sympathetic impulse which 
reached out to all who came to her, recommended or 

>'5 



Bnne C. %. JSotta 

unrecommended, introduced or not introduced, either 
for friendship, help, shelter, advice, or encouragement; 
an impulse of love, kindliness, and pity that knew no 
limit ; an intuitive craving of real " motherhood " to 
love and cherish all who needed it — an instinct which 
runs in the fine veins and broad arteries of all noble 
womanhood. It was this instinct that drew her to the 
least as well as to the greatest, to the rich as well as to 
the poor, to the unknown as much as to the famous 
men and women of the world. It was this instinct 
that rendered her more Christian than Christianity 
itself, — at least such forms of it as are to be found 
among us to-day. it was no doubt this unbounded 
hospitality of nature that made her the delightful 
hostess that she was, as well as the friendliest of 
friends and companions. 

All kinds of people were welcomed to her hos- 
pitable mansion at 25 West Thirty-seventh street; 
here there was always to be found a considerable 
mixture of famous men and women, and not a few 
who would probably never be known outside of their 
own circle; but the slightest indication of purpose, 
of any one study earnestly pursued, something done 
or being done, — whether it was building a house, 
writing a book, composing a poem, making a garden, 
or getting a servant, — recommended itself at once 
to her ; and it became a sort of imperative duty to her 
to exert all her faculties to facilitate, if possible, the 
object in view. 

Many foreigners, like myself, retain the memory 
of happy days and hours spent in her beautiful draw- 

116 



B a;r(bute 

ing-room as among the brightest and most exhilarating 
of their New-York recollections. Who that has ever 
been there could forget those parlors on the second 
story, with their rich background of cabinets, well 
filled with choice books, covered with Venetian glass, 
mosaics, bronzes, statues (some of which were the 
work of her own hands), the walls hung with shields 
and rare pictures ; the warm welcome, often with 
wide-extended arms, to those whom she loved best; 
and the delightful company of men and women emi- 
nent in art, science, religion, literature, philanthropy, 
that might be met there ? Many distinguished Ital- 
ians flocked there, sure of a hearty welcome from 
their graceful hostess, and of the unusual treat of 
hearing their beautiful language spoken faultlessly by 
her husband. It is characteristic of the latter, as it 
ever was of his matchless wife, that whatever their 
own individual views, opinions, and predilections, 
their friends were to be found in all ranks of life, all 
sects, all denominations, all nationalities, and every 
shade of political creed. 

Mrs. Botta's delight in a general and animated con- 
versation was most noticeable at some of her quiet, 
almost family-like, dinner-parties; it was her habit to 
listen with rapt attention, which so stimulated her 
guests that it infused into each an almost creative 
power of thought and expression. 1 heard an old 
gentleman, on being complimented at being so enter- 
taining at one of these dinners, say : "1 really can't 
account for it. lam quite surprised myself; 1 never 
before suspected that I could be so witty and amus- 
8* 117 



anne C. %, JBotta 

ing." All barriers seemed to be laid aside; each 
spoke from the heart. It was at these moments that 
she shone out ; her broad, generous face was illumi- 
nated by those large blue eyes and with a peculiar 
beauty. She enforced unconsciously by her inborn 
nobleness of soul the rules of etiquette so laboriously 
framed by Catherine the Great of Russia for her con- 
versaiioni at the '• Hermitage" : " Leave your rank, 
your hat, and especially your sword, outside. Tell 
no tales out of school. Whatever goes in at one ear 
must go out at the other before leaving this room." 
But, unlike and a whole heaven above the great 
Catherine, her power of drawing out all that was good 
in others, and compelling them, while under her in- 
fluence at least, to observe the one toward the other 
the highest rules of courtesy and good breeding, was 
due mainly to the fact that she herself was entirely 
free from self-assertion, vanity, or self-seeking, and 
that her sympathetic interest in each of her guests was 
felt to be equally deep and absorbing. 

It was on one of these memorable occasions that I 
found myself seated beside a handsomely dressed and 
singularly attractive woman who was quite bright and 
witty : " but under her spell," as she afterward re- 
marked; " for my husband finds me dreadfully dull 
at our own dinners 1 " In the course of an animated 
conversation some words fell from her lips which made 
me curious to learn her history. It was told in a few 
words, and with such evident joy and gratitude that 
she could hardly restrain her emotion. As a young 
girl she had run away from a home in which the light 

ii8 



a tribute 

of love had never shone. From the moment she had 
entered it after the death of both her parents, she 
longed to run away. Finding herself in possession 
of a dollar over and above her railroad fare, she fled to 
New-York city to seek her fortune ; but no sooner 
had the train started than she realized in some degree 
what she had done, and burst into tears. A lady on the 
train, observing her distress, gave her Mrs. Botta's ad- 
dress, and told her to be sure to go to her if she was 
in need of help. That night she passed in a room in 
the lower part of the town, which she had hired for 
fifty cents. No tongue, as she assured me, could de- 
scribe her terror, dismay, and horror at the sounds 
of drunken revelry that penetrated her small attic 
chamber. When morning dawned she fled from it as 
from a plague-stricken spot, hurried to the only ad- 
dress which she knew in that great city, which had 
been given her by a mere chance, as it seemed. But 
it was enough to have touched that magic bell, to 
have stood before Mrs. Botta and poured out her tale 
of grief and wrong-doing. She was taken in, sheltered, 
protected, guided. In due time she returned to her 
uncle's home, and bore with patience the trials that 
there awaited her, and in the end became the happy 
wife of a distinguished lawyer. It was the great event 
of her life to visit her benefactress, and at the time 1 
speak of she was on one of these visits with her two 
lovely girls. This was only one of the many instances 
where the practical earnestness and ever-ready help 
of this most remarkable woman did much toward 
bringing a strong, clear purpose into the vague yearn- 

119 



Bnnc C. X. 3Botta 

ings and half-formed plans of life of many a young 
girl personally known to me. 

Her New-Year receptions were also quite a feature 
of the social life of New-York city, and as she was a 
strenuous advocate for the preservation of good old- 
fashioned customs, she observed New-Year's Day in 
particular state and ceremony. A troop of pretty girls 
in full evening-dress generally received with her on 
these occasions. It was the peculiar talent of the 
hostess to make each of her young girls feel that in 
herself she was one of the loveliest of young women, 
that her home was the brightest and happiest spot in 
the world ; and many a motherless young girl valued 
this delicious home feeling as one of the choicest priv- 
ileges of her life in New-York city. It was really 
delightful to see the hostess with her fair bevy of 
young girls receiving their numerous guests, beam- 
ing a warm welcome to all. The mirth and merri- 
ment of the young people were greatly promoted by 
some of the eccentric persons who sometimes seized 
the opportunity to call on the kind hostess on this 
festive occasion. The more awkward and "gauche" 
the visitor, the more courteous and kind was the 
hostess, and the most popular of her young ladies 
would be called upon to help to entertain him. I 
shall never forget an amusing incident which occurred 
on each successive New- Year's Day, and which showed 
our beloved hostess to be as kindly indulgent to little 
human foibles and shortcomings as she was helpful 
and sympathetic to its greater needs and necessities. 
A rather portly gentleman called, as was his usual 



21 XLvibute 

custom, on New-Year's Day, and, having delivered 
himself of the customary greetings and compliments, 
he was wont to depart in seeming haste, having on 
his list a hundred and one places still to call at, — but 
only to turn up, which he did regularly as the clock 
announced the dinner-hour, just at the moment 
when the host and hostess and their merry party 
were about to descend to dinner. He would enter 
bowing and slightly embarrassed: he had dropped his 
pocket-handkerchief, mislaid his umbrella, or needed 
some important address, he would explain ; and, after 
some confused attempts at a search or further ex- 
planation, he would very reluctantly accept the kind 
hostess's proffered invitation to stay and dine with 
her! On one occasion, when the young ladies were 
making merry over this very apparent and oft-re- 
peated ruse of the old bachelor to secure a good din- 
ner, she mildly remarked: "My dears, it is not very 
wicked to wish to dine with us on such a bitter cold 
day as this ; he is not a rich man, and I know him to 
be most generous and self-denying to his poor sister's 
family." 

These are only a few out of scores of similar in- 
stances of her pure and disinterested kindliness to- 
ward her fellow-men. No one felt more keenly and 
lived more conscientiously up to her conviction 
of the interdependence and kinship of men. " We 
are made to work together, like feet, like hands, like 
eyelids, like rows of the upper and lower teeth." 
"It is peculiar to man to love even those who do 
wrong ; and thou wilt love them if, when they err, 



Bnne C. X. :i0otta 

thou bethink thee that they are to thee near akin." 
" Men exist for the sake of one another; teach them, 
then, or bear with them." "'Earth loves the 
shower, and the sacred ether loves, and the whole 
universe loves, the making of that which is to be.' I 
say then to the universe : Even I, too, love as thou." 
This sentiment was her favorite passage from one of 
her teachers, Marcus Aurelius, though she often re- 
marked that it lacked the grandeur of the Buddhist 
and the Christian teaching — that is, ' ' Like as a mother 
watcheth over her child, so should universal good- 
will prevail toward all mankind"; and that other 
imperative command: "Thou shalt love thy neigh- 
bor as thyself." 

The truth, however extravagant it may appear, 
was that she actually loved her neighbor better than 
herself, and that she tolerated in him or her, and 
suffered for him or her, what she never would 
have tolerated in, or suffered for, herself; this was 
the open secret of her life. But, while unsurpassed 
in the freedom, force, and tenderness of her con- 
scious womanhood, she had nothing whatever of 
the spirit of a reformer, agitator, or even leader. 
As she herself says: "1 can, undisturbed, witness 
changes and revolutions; believing, as 1 do, that the 
world is under the reign of law and not of men, 1 am 
sure that all will come right in the end. Socialism 
seems to me to be the slow awakening of the people 
to their * right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of 
happiness,' as our Declaration of Independence puts 
it. Any system of government that forces the body 



n tribute 

of the people to labor for their daily bread, deprived 
of comfort, education, and bread too, often while the 
few live in ease and luxury, with the command of 
every means for intellectual and moral improvement 
— may be right or wrong ; but, either way, the masses 
are beginning to think about it. But if they should 
rise in their strength and overthrow the civilization of 
to-day, 1 have no doubt that from the ruins would rise 
a higher and nobler state of things, such as followed 
the overthrow of Rome when the barbarians swept 
down upon the empire and destroyed it. 1 take no 
part in all this; 1 look on in wonder and awe to see 
what appear to me great laws in operation. So in 
our war against slavery — had it been left to me to 
destroy the institution, much as I detested it, 1 would 
not have dared to do it, not knowing what the re- 
sult might be ; but behold how marvelously it was 
wrought out! " No one so habitually realized the dif- 
ficulty of forming true opinions. She insisted that 
many people made up their minds because they were 
in a hurry to act, or to decide one way or the other, 
or from a predisposition to one side or the other ; but 
rarely from an honest and downright sense of con- 
viction of the justness of one or the other opinion. 
"No wonder, then, "she used to say, "that the wise 
Buddha made ' right thinking ' one of the cardinal 
points of his means to salvation." 

Few women took such real delight in the work of 
her sex as she did. On receiving a photograph of a 
lovely painting by a distinguished German lady, she 
wrote: "The beautiful photograph you sent to me 

123 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

of Fraulein Schepp lies on my table admired by every 
one. It is one of the most exquisite figures I have 
ever seen, and I am proud that a woman painted 
it." Her faith in her own sex led her to rejoice over 
any manifestation of real honest work, high resolve, 
or devotion to a lofty aim. She knew by heart the 
names of hundreds of famous women, ancient and 
modern, and was wont to speak of them not only 
with enthusiasm, but with a sort of reverent adora- 
tion ; hence her oft-expressed delight in the noble 
Aryan and Germanic peoples, and in particular the 
Teutonic tribes, ' ' because of their well-known rever- 
ence for women, because with them a queen was as 
sacred an object of love and homage as a king, and 
the perfect equality of sex which existed among them 
in all domestic and social relations — the wife not be- 
ing bought or sold, but being accustomed to receive 
rather than to bring a dowry, and each, when be- 
trothed, being obliged to invest the other with the 
same equipments — spear, sword, shield, dagger, and 
steed — in token not only of equal rights, duties, 
and pastimes, but of coequal physical strength and 
endurance." 

Her sympathy for the various clubs which of late 
have been organized with the object of promoting the 
mental improvement of the society ladies of New- 
York was active and strong. She belonged to the 
Nineteenth Century Club, and took a great interest 
in its discussions and its liberalizing influence. She 
was also a member of the Wednesday Club, where 
ladies meet to discuss social and literary subjects, 

124 



a Ztibntc 

Speaking of the importance of these institutions, in a 
letter to me, she says: "I am more and more con- 
vinced that it is only through women that the world 
is to be regenerated ; and in the higher education and 
wider fields of action now opening to them, they 
seem to me to be preparing for their great mission. 
There has lately been established at the New-York 
University a professorship of Maw,' and the professor 
is a German lady lately come here." Eager to enlarge 
the sphere of her knowledge, she welcomed with all 
her heart the efforts to discover new laws and new 
phenomena in the economy of the universe, which 
might throw a better light on the mysteries by which 
the human mind is surrounded. " Hypnotism," she 
wrote to me, ''I have believed in for many years, — 
long ago, when it was called 'animal magnetism,' 
and the learned doctors scoffed at it. 1 have no 
doubt that the race is gradually evolving newer and 
higher functions, and that this is one of them. The 
action of mind on mind, as sometimes shown in the 
cure of disease, is another instance of this tendency 
to important discoveries." 

It would give us a poor idea of the intellectual grasp 
and insight of Mrs. Botta's mind if I should lead any 
one to think that she believed in the vulgar theory 
of Oriental metempsychosis. Often have 1 heard her 
express her admiration for Oriental and Christian 
mysticism — that is, so far as it does not interfere 
with the practical duties of life. She sympathized 
with the teachings of Hindoo and Christian divines, 
that the soul is intrinsically deathless; that it has 

125 



"Bnne C. X. JBotta 

within it the principle of life, of which you cannot 
predicate non-existence. You cannot say of it: "It 
hath been, or is about to be, or will be hereafter." 
It is a principle without birth, hence without death ; 
but subject to change in its combination with matter. 
Matter is the true river of Lethe ; immersed in it, the 
soul forgets much, but not everything; hence these 
casual gleams of memory, giving us sudden, abrupt, 
and momentary revelations of the past, are precisely 
the phenomena we would expect to meet with. 
These psychological facts seemed to her to warrant 
the belief in the preexistence of the soul, which is 
preeminent in the Hindoo theology, in Plato's phi- 
losophy, and in the writings of the early fathers of 
the Church. Suddenly a thought is flashed into the 
mind, which is not only isolated in the present, but 
which cannot be traced back to any source in our 
brief experience on this side of life ; we perceive an 
object, hear of some life, feel the touch of some fine 
spirit, and immediately we seem to be lifted out of 
the every-day circle of thoughts and feelings and 
plunged into a sort of vague reminiscence of some 
half-forgotten dream. This is one of the arguments 
of the "Phaedo"; it is the prevailing idea of Words- 
worth in his ode on the " Intimations of Immortality 
from Recollections of Childhood" ; the joy felt in the 
grandeur of the sky, in the height of the mountain, 
in the majesty of the forest, in the murmuring of the 
brook, in the splendor of the grass, in the glory of 
the flower, and in all the wondrous beauties of this 
world, was to him, with his poetic nature, not only 

126 



a tTributc 

a thrill of delight — it was more: it was a half- 
conscious recognition — recollection — of an antenatal 
existence. 

Not in entire forgetfulness, 

Not in utter nai<edness, 

But in trailing clouds of glory do we come 

From God — who is our home. 

In answer to some of my letters from Cassel on the 
excellent training my grandchildren were receiving 
in the German schools here, she says : " I agree with 
you in regretting that we were born before we ought 
to have been in order to enjoy all the advantages 
of the young people of to-day. But perhaps we 
shall reincarnate, and, if so, I only hope we may be 
contemporaries." 

The soul that rises with us, our life's star, 

Hath had elsewhere its setting, and cometh from afar. 

Her idea of heaven and its beatitudes was the eman- 
cipation here in this life from all the lower animal 
instincts, — pride, envy, hatred, malice, revenge, lust, 
passion, anger, greed, covetousness, — and the acquir- 
ing of transcendental virtues, which leads the soul to 
yearn after perfection — that haunting reminiscence 
of its God which the purified soul can never escape; 
that longing after "Nirvana" — that jewel in the lotus 
of the Buddhist: Om mani padmehomA Penetrated 
with these ideas, and living constantly in the ideal, 

1 O Infinite ! direct my feet toward thee ! 
127 



anne C. X. JSotta 

she could sweep onward and upward in ever higher 
and loftier circles ; her duties, her pleasures, her 
studies, her joys, her friendships and sorrows, were 
all at length transformed into spiritual rather than 
earthly things, and full of divine beauty. " I am every 
day more and more impressed with the idea that I 
am floating in a sea of divine energy, or life, of which 
I am a part; a measureless ocean of living energy, 
which rolls its tide, as it were, into the little creek that 
is bounded by our senses, thus to take this form of 
finite life. This flowing tide ripples on the shore 
of the objective world ; but behind is the broadening 
flood, which widens out beyond vision or sounding- 
line into the inconceivable grandeur of God." In 
these, almost her dying words, we can perceive some- 
thing of the majesty of this great American woman, 
something of the living, concentrated energy and 
depth of her soul, something of that impersonal soul 
losing itself in •' the inconceivable grandeur of God." 
We cannot fail to recognize in her a grand typical 
woman of the great American Republic ; for there are 
others like unto her, working, saving, ameliorating, 
making the rough places smooth, and striving, ever 
striving, to live up to their loftiest ideals. 

jMrs. Botta lived no fragmentary life measured by 
days, months, and years. Her life here was a con- 
tinuity of a life before and a life hereafter; her life, 
to those who knew her, was an expression of divine 
energy, divine compassion, divine unity, without 
beginning, without end. The tangible "web" 
which we call birth and death is but the endless 

128 



B Crtbute 

changes through which the soul, obedient to its own 
spiritual laws, passes on and on toward a final reunion 
with its own divine essence, God. 

Then, since from God those lesser lives began, 
And the eager spirits entered into man, 

To God again the enfranchised soul must tend ; 

He is her Home, her Author, is her End. 

No death is hers ; when earthly eyes grow dim, 
Star-like she soars, and, God-like, melts in him. 



129 




B fcvo Mor^e of %ovc 

By Mary Mapes Dodge, New-York. 

(Extract from a Letter.) 

My dear Mr. Botta : 

^T is beautiful to leave such a memory as hers. 
Even now, beyond the keen sense of loss, 
beyond the longing to see her dear face, to 
hear her voice, 1 rejoice in my friend for what she 
was to all who knew her — a beautiful presence, a 
brave, noble influence, a delight, an inspiration. 

I had known Mrs. Botta many years, yet never did 
she grow a day older. A bright, earnest woman, — 
never trifling, never conscious of her charm, — she 
seemed the embodiment of perennial youth. 

Never shall 1 forget that light, quick footstep com- 
ing down the stairs in her beautiful home — music 
indeed to all who loved her, or who enjoyed the 
privilege of her warm, uplifting friendship. 

I write these words to you, to whom she was, as 
you have said, friend, wife, child, mother, — every- 
thing ! And yet I dare not speak of your loss, your 
sorrow. 1 only can rejoice for you in her rare per- 
sonality, her goodness, her sweet, beguiling wisdom, 
in the very grace of her existence. 

130 




IRcminisccnces 

By the Hon. Charles A. Peabody, New-York. 



^N availing myself of the opportunity to unite 
with other friends in paying tribute to the 
memory of the late Mrs. Botta, afforded me 
by the kindness of her sorrowing husband, I have 
first to select from the numerous eminent qualities 
of mind and heart which she possessed and illustrated 
in her journey through life. 

The character in which she was most broadly 
known was that of authoress. She had written 
much and well. But it is not by the amount or ex- 
cellence of her writings that she will be chiefly re- 
membered by her friends and those having personal 
acquaintance with her. She had written sufficient 
to give ample evidence of ability, industry, and love 
of the occupation, and it was conceded on all hands 
that so far as she had given herself to the labors of 
an authoress, she had deserved, as she had received in 
large measure, the approbation of that part of society 
whose approbation is most to be desired. The in- 
tellectual character of her productions was always 



Bnne C. %. JSotta 

highly esteemed. They were always the expres- 
sion of careful thought and study, of a mind amply 
endowed by nature, disciplined and accustomed to 
think and study carefully as well as industriously. 
There was symmetry — consistency of parts with 
each other — in her writings not always found in the 
writings of either sex, and some critics (unsympa- 
thetic perhaps) have said, less frequently found in 
those of the more sentimental and emotional than in 
those of the less delicate and susceptible branch of the 
family of authors. 

One single product of her mind and pen has 
seemed to me sufficient to establish her reputation 
for ability, industry, and love of the acquisition of 
knowledge by exhaustive labor and research. I 
allude to the "Handbook of Universal Literature," 
a volume of five or six hundred pages closely printed. 
That volume gives a carefully prepared history of all 
the literatures of the world, so far as they are known 
in print, from the Hebrew in its earliest days — their 
origin and history, with the modifications and changes 
they have experienced from the date of their rudi- 
ments to the present time. This book, now in its 
twenty-third, or later, edition, and in use in colleges 
and universities, would seem to me to furnish al- 
most any amount of evidence that could be desired 
of the highly intellectual and literary character of the 
authoress in the department of literary labor to 
which it belongs. 

Other writings of hers in prose, on subjects less 
recondite and more in harmony with what is ex- 

132 



IRemlntsccnccs 

pected from the feminine toils and mind, might be 
referred to. But the "Handbook of Universal Liter- 
ature" is cited as a production stii generis, and of a 
character quite unlike what is expected from the 
labors of her sex; and while possessing many attrac- 
tions expected from the gentler and more refined sex, 
the work abounds with matter which is expected 
only of the sterner and stronger side of the human 
family. It is probable that she was better known 
and more admired for her productions in verse. It 
was, no doubt, in this department that she became 
earliest known. A volume which contained many, 
but by no means all, of her poems was in print sev- 
eral years ago. She continued to write poems to the 
end of her life, and many have never yet been pub- 
lished. They are of a grave and thoughtful character, 
and the pleasure they gave to her friends and appre- 
ciative readers in her lifetime is not diminished, but 
only hallowed, by the sad event which has taken 
her from their society and from this world. 

In 1848, if my memory serves me, I knew her by 
reputation as a writer and authoress. As long ago 
as that, when she was Miss Lynch, and before her 
marriage with Professor Botta, she was a prolific 
writer in poetry and in prose. Her social and liter- 
ary receptions, launched years before, and at that 
time prospering under favoring skies and breezes, 
were receptions of the poetess in the estimation of 
polite and cultured people, who knew them practi- 
cally as well as by reputation. I knew, through 
mutual acquaintances, that they were very success- 
9* 133 



Bnne C. X. :iBotta 

ful and much admired. Her literary productions 
even then had given her an enviable position, and 
enabled her to secure the approbation of the most 
cultured literary persons of the time. 

To those who had the good fortune to be person- 
ally acquainted with Mrs. Botta, their interest in her 
will have far outstripped all that could be derived 
from familiarity with her literary works. By far the 
most attractive qualities of her character were senti- 
mental and of the heart, rather than intellectual and 
of the head, elevated and commanding as were the 
latter. There was a kindliness of manner and gen- 
eral bearing, a readiness of sympathy and interest, 
which made her always accepted and welcomed as 
a friend. It was apparent at the first, and made 
one always wish for further acquaintance. She 
was very frank and ingenuous in manner and in fact. 
The feeling initiated at the first acquaintance was not 
discouraged or diminished, but increased by further 
knowledge. She was herself willing and desirous to 
be pleased, and showed to companions a pleasing in- 
terest in them. Her estimate of others — their acts and 
sayings — was always kindly, and such as gave evi- 
dence of a kindly and generous nature in herself. Her 
genial and affectionate nature delighted in doing 
good — relieving suffering and conferring happiness in 
every-day practical life. This was her habit, and she 
interested herself in any case that came to her know- 
ledge which afforded an opportunity for the grati- 
fication of benevolent desires. 

Like the rest of the world, she had to judge others 
'34 



TReminisccnccs 

by herself, and such as her own feelings and motives 
were, or would have been under similar circum- 
stances, she judged the feelings and motives of others 
to be; and although, judging from herself, she may 
have had a standard higher and more magnanimous 
than would give, as the result, the exact truth con- 
cerning others, — it had the effect of elevating, in her 
estimate and feelings, humanity and the world in 
which she and her companions were living. 

Her actions were in accordance with her sentiments 
and feelings ; she was always ready to embrace every 
opportunity for soothing and relieving the pains, sor- 
rows, and distrusts of those about her whom her acts 
would affect, by attentions of kindness and sym- 
pathy. She did not decline or seek to avoid relations 
with the unhappy and suffering, as less affectionate 
natures habitually do. On the contrary, she seemed 
to seek such associations, and to avail herself of them 
as affording opportunities for kindly attentions and 
ministrations to the relief of her own heart, as well 
as the hearts on which her blessings were bestowed. 
It was not her habit or taste "to pass by on the 
other side"; moreover, such an action would not 
have been consistent with her character. She found 
her inmost satisfaction in repeating the ministrations 
of the good Samaritan whenever she found an object 
on which to bestow them. 

What seems to me much more meritorious, as 
well as rare, in practical life, is the observance of a 
rule of benevolent, helpful action in the cases where 
no thrilling appeal is made to the sympathies — 

•35 



anne C. %. asotta 

where the actor is readily and willingly engaged in 
bestowing or increasing the happiness of those not 
having the claims arising from positive need or suffer- 
ing. Her habits of hospitality were among the most 
remarked and admired in her character; in this, as 
in everything else, she attempted to confer the greatest 
amount of happiness possible. The happiness and 
enjoyment of her guests, not the brilliancy and osten- 
tation of her entertainments, were her guide in them. 
They were often repeated and much more enjoyed 
in each instance than those conducted on the opposite 
principle of display. For whole decades the hospitality 
extended to distinguished strangers from abroad was 
observed and remarked by all who were acquainted 
with her. Hardly a foreigner of distinction in letters 
or refined culture visited the city who was not enter- 
tained at her house, and receptions given him or her; 
and no small part of them were guests residing tem- 
porarily at her house during their stay in the city. It 
was a common remark that few if any other houses in 
the city excelled or perhaps equaled it in the extent to 
which guests of distinction from abroad were enter- 
tained, and domestic guests and citizens were pre- 
sented to them in her drawing-rooms. 

She will be remembered by me as a benefactor so 
long as memory shall continue to serve me. There 
have been times in my life, as there have been in the 
lives of many others, when kindness of attention and 
sympathetic interest have been valuable above all 
price, and when the ministrations of a kindly nature 
like hers were like angelic visits. 

136 



IRemlniscences 

At a time when I was suffering severe affliction, 
she kindly offered to render me any aid in her power, 
and in that connection she said that she and her hus- 
band were expecting to sail for Europe in a few days, 
and suggested that the change of scene which would 
be afforded by such a journey would perhaps be the 
best relief 1 could find under the circumstances ; that 
if I would take passage with them, they would with 
pleasure do all in their power to aid and sustain me 
in my dejected condition. 1 accepted her proposal 
very gratefully, and the kindness of the attentions 
thus afforded me can never be forgotten, or the 
obligation discharged. 

She has been kindly and beneficent by her sym- 
pathy and soothing aid to an extent that 1 will not at- 
tempt to describe. She was always accessible in time 
of need, always interested and sympathetic ; but her 
ministrations did not end there. She had strength 
and the power to impart it to the depressed and 
suffering, — the wisdom as well as the wish which 
could strengthen and enliven the suffering and 
despondent. 

As advice, she adopted the words of Emerson, and 
gave them to me in the following lines: 

Some of your griefs you have cured, 
And the sharpest you still have survived ; 
But what torments of pain you 've endured 
From evils that never arrived! 

The following poem was addressed to me by her 
during my affliction : 

'37 



Bnne C. %, JBotta 



UNTIL DEATH. 



Make me no vows of constancy, dear friend, 
To love me, though I die, thy whole life long, 
And love no other till thy days shall end ; 
Nay, it were rash and wrong. 

If thou canst love another, be it so ; 
I would not reach out of my quiet grave 
To bind thy heart, if it should choose to go : 
Love should not be a slave. 

My placid ghost, I trust, will walk serene 
In clearer light than gilds these earthly morns, 
Above the jealousies and envies keen 
Which sow this life with thorns. 

Thou wouldst not feel my shadowy caress, 
It after death my soul should linger here; 
Men's hearts crave tangible, close tenderness, 
Love's presence, warm and near. 

It would not make me sleep more peacefully 
That thou wert wasting all thy life in woe 
For my poor sake ; what love thou hast for me 
Bestow it ere I go. 

Carve not upon a stone when I am dead 
The praises which remorseful mourners give 
To women's graces, — a tardy recompense, — 
But speak thou while I live. 

Heap not the heavy marble on my head 
To shut away the sunshine and the dew ; 
Let small blooms grow there and let grasses wave, 
And raindrops filter through. 
138 



tRemtnidcences 

Thou wilt meet many fairer and more gay 
Than I ; but, trust me, thou canst never find 
One who will love and serve thee night and day 
With a more single mind. 

Forget me when I die! — the violets 

Above my rest will blossom just as blue, 

Nor miss thy tears: e'en Nature's self forgets; — 

But while 1 live, be true ! 



'39 




By Kate Field, Washington, D. C. 



\T is a busy, struggling world we live in, and 
few pause when even the greatest are borne 
to the grave; but sometimes the passing on 
of a rare soul makes us stop and think. Such a soul 
had the noble woman who left us suddenly on March 
23. 1 89 1 . who bore the honored name of Anne Char- 
lotte Lynch until she married Vincenzo Botta, a dis- 
tinguished Italian who under the direction of his 
government had come to America to investigate our 
system of education. When he sailed for this country 
his future wife sailed for Europe in company with her 
friends Charles Butler and family. 

This man and this woman passed each other on 
the high seas, and even when Miss Lynch returned 
to New-York, Professor Botta carried about for six 
months a letter of introduction to her, so averse was 
he to meeting unknown people. At last he presented 
it, and then — he called daily. The subject of Victor 
Emmanuel at once recognized the generous, sympa- 
thetic American whose quick intelligence was the 

140 



B moble *CCloman 

least of her attractions. She had a heart; she gave 
it unreservedly, once and for all. 

What a glorious tribute this Italian pays to his 
wife! "Much as 1 loved her in the beginning, 
much as I esteemed her noble qualities, I can truly 
say that she was far more to me at the end than at 
the beginning ; for I knew her better and appreciated 
her more. She had but one fault, and it killed her — 
benevolence. She gave always. It was her nature. 
Enough that humanity needed help for her to extend 
her hand, whether she were well or ill. She loved 
her kind, and longed to benefit her generation. Her 
first and last thought was for others. She rarely 
spoke of herself, and until death itself took her from 
me she made light of her own suffering, and gave 
instructions what should be done for the doctor, the 
nurses, and for me. She was my rudder. I have 
lost all in losing her." 

Better than to have written the greatest of books 
or modeled the best of statues, is it to have inspired 
such love and such respect. Mrs. Botta was a 
woman, and as a beautiful example of her sex I 
want many who never knew her, or knew her su- 
perficially, to realize the sweetness of her character; 
for, after all, it is character, not reputation, that 
makes the real human being. 

" Did you ever notice how much of Christ's life 
was spent simply in doing kind things?" asks 
Drummond. Therein lay the greatness of Mrs. 
Botta's life. She was perpetually doing kind things 
for everybody, regardless of thanks or gratitude, 

141 



Bnnc C. %. JSotta 

beaming like the sun upon tiie just and unjust, con- 
scious of her own good-will — unconscious, if pos- 
sible, of slight or malice. 1 have never known man 
or woman so eager for the truth, whatever it might 
be; so ready to receive the light, no matter whence it 
came ; so humble in her own esteem ; so ready to 
praise friend and foe when praise was due. The 
latch-string of her heart and head, as of her hospi- 
table door, was always out. The welcome came 
from one who, living in the world for seventy-six 
years, was never spoiled by it, whose simplicity and 
naturalness would have graced a child. 

Mrs. Botta had no fear of death. She accepted the 
inevitable, and often talked with her husband of that 
mysterious law of nature which usually seems so 
cruel. She believed firmly in cremation, but so dearly 
loved her friend and best adviser of forty years, Mr. 
Charles Butler, as to waive her own judgment in 
deference to his. "Remember," she said to her 
husband, "if 1 die before Mr. Butler, let me be 
buried. If I die after him, be sure that I am 
cremated." 

She died first, and no truer mourner has this 
thoughtful woman than the ninety-year-old man who 
"longs for the touch of a vanished hand, and the 
sound of a voice that is still." 

For many years it had been Mrs. Botta's custom to 
send Mr. Butler a pocket-book on Christmas wherein 
lay a poem inspired by her regard. The old pocket- 
book was always carefully laid aside for the new ; 
the poems, intended for one eye only, were always 

142 



n noble "Wfloman 

treasured. Her last Christmas brought to Mr. Butler 
his eagerly expected gift, the poem almost a presage 
of impending fate : 

As year by year adown life's stream we glide, 
And see our loved ones falling at our side, 
Passing like shadows to the dread unknown, 
It were too drear to journey on alone 
But for the friends who still our pathway cheer, 
Their lessening numbers still more prized and dear; 
Because the last, more precious they become, 
Like the few leaves the Sibyl brought to Rome. 

On one of his birthdays, Mrs. Botta remembered 
him with the following lines : 

Life is not measured by the flow of years, 

But by high deeds and noble thoughts, whereby 

The soul makes its own record and uprears 

A monument whereon its age appears. 

If by this law we count and measure thine, 

We find the record ten times eighty-nine. 

At another time she sent him an illustrated Bible 
with these verses : 

Within this Book is shrined the simple creed 

Divinely given ; and he who owns may read 

The creed the law and prophets rest upon. 

That love to God and love to man are one. 

Far off in Eastern lands, and long ago, 

An angel came this great truth to foreshow, — 

So runs the tale, — and if to-day he came 

The chosen spirits of the world to claim, 

In his bright list, thy name among the blest 

Like " Abou Ben Adhem's" would lead all the rest. 

•43 



annc C. X. 3Botta 

The woman lived up to the poet's ideal. 

On March 31, 1891, Professor and Mrs. Botta 
would have celebrated the thirty-sixth anniversary 
of their wedding. The feast for them and their in- 
timate friends did not come : there was the silence 
of desolation in its stead. But the happy reunion has 
only been postponed. I hear a gentle, kind voice 
whisper to those who mourn her sudden taking off: 
"Courage; the end is not yet. The end is never!" 



144 




an iByprcseion of Xove 

By Mrs. Maria Wallace, New-York. 



My dear Mr. Botta: 

AM sure you must know how gladly I avail 
myself of the opportunity to say my simple 
word in remembrance of her whom it was 
my happy privilege to call friend. 

As a friend indeed and in truth, such as 1 knew 
her, 1 shall alone speak of her who has left us. 

Other pens may more worthily describe her as 
author and artist, as the gracious hostess of her beau- 
tiful salon, open to all who could present any true 
claim upon her hospitality for themselves or their 
ideas. Legion must be the name of the struggling 
men and women to whom she proved a veritable 
angel of hope. These too shall rise up and call her 
blessed. 

As a friend, her price was above rubies. The rare 
charm of her personality is indescribable. With her 
came sweetness, and light, and cheer; and when she 
went away the very room seemed brighter and sun- 
nier for her coming. 

145 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

Always the best in me came forth to meet her 
pleasant challenge. Under her vivifying influence I 
felt my " slimpsy," embryonic thoughts and spec- 
ulations filling out and growing clearer, until the 
poor starveling germs bloomed into fair and indi- 
vidual life. 

Always interested in whatsoever interested an- 
other, always claiming to have gained something, 
while ever giving in full measure, she touched 
closely the secret of losing life to find it. 

In sorrow a sure stay and consoler, in joy a very 
echo of the joy-bells in one's heart, hers was a rarely 
responsive spirit, needing 

No dry discussion to unfold 

The meaning caught ere well 't was told, 

but often making one's "meaning "a glad surprise 
to one's self. 

Accept, my dear sir, this poor expression of the 
love and reverence 1 bore for her in life, and cherish 
still more tenderly now that she has gone from our 
sight. 



146 



IRecoUcctions 

By Mrs. Julia Campbell Keightly, New-York. 



^I^^^/^T is the privilege of some few private lives 
«^ ^ ^° become public ones in a sense generally 
^^"TtDiy overlooked. Such lives are not based upon 
organized effort ; they have no fixed direction, no aim, 
but a continuous aspiration ; their trend is toward 
truth only, in all departments of life. Their univer- 
sal bent affords expansion to every experience; they 
come to dispense a calm helpfulness, to illumine the 
general bewilderment with an apotheosis of com- 
mon sense. Like the comet, they have no known 
orbit, but bear light from star to star. Such sound, 
sweet minds are centers of power. They unify and 
consolidate men and thoughts. When one such life 
is withdrawn, it is discovered to have been a public 
one in the sense that it belonged to all who chose to 
make a claim upon it, — was a distinctive medium, a 
basis of free interchange. Disappearing, it leaves us 
confronted with a breach most wide, a chasm darkly 
deep. Then its vigorous cheeriness assails our 
memory, and dries our tears. 

'47 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

Such a life ended, with brief warning, at i a. m. 
of March 2}, 1891, when Mrs. Botta slept — and 
woke not. She had achieved much in the world to 
which she then closed her eyes. Her sonnets and 
other literary works are well known. She was the 
friend of Poe, Willis, Emerson, Kingsley, Froude, 
Matthew Arnold, and so on through the long ranks 
of names illustrious and names shining with a milder 
ray. To scan the packets of letters in her writing- 
table was to exchange greetings with half a century 
of notabilities, and the roll-call of modern fame might 
have been read from the pages of her book of hospi- 
tality. Not alone the victors responded to her vivi- 
fying touch. Many a raw recruit received from her 
the first lessons in his manual. It is nowhere in- 
scribed, not even in the unstable heart of man, how 
many stricken ones she uplifted and upheld. Once 
I said to her : " I hope they are grateful." Her eyes 
sparkled with amusement. "Grateful? Oh, my 
dear ! I am the grateful one ; I only rest when I am 
doing something"; and again she laughed in her 
enlivened common sense. 

To applaud achievement was Mrs. Botta's delight. 
It was her mission, and her inspiration, to urge all, 
the young especially, to do some one thing well, and 
to evolve some special mode of usefulness. It lay, 
above all, in bringing the ways and means of self- 
help to those who had them not. This done, she 
expected her assistance to be returned to the com- 
munity at large. She had a very passion of purpose 
to enlarge, to fortify, to ennoble and enrich. An 



IRecollections 

ardent believer in the dignity of humanity, she 
longed to see its every unit self-sustained and up- 
right, and to this end spared herself no whit. What- 
ever she had she gave — herself most of all. For 
herself she asked of others nothing but themselves; 
but for humanity she asked everything. Such was 
the spur of her incentive, that not the smallest, the 
most futile of lives could come within her radius and 
ever contract to be quite its own scant self again. 
With sluggish lives she had a merry discontent: " I 

could shake A ; she will not grow." Hers was a 

natural power, like gravitation. In such measure did 
she evolve it, that she, of all American women, came 
nearest to the formation of a salon. Had her interests 
been a shade less universal we should have had the 
Salon Botta, as once society had the Hotel Rambouil- 
let. Her friends were leaders of parties, of charities, 
of reforms, of social, literary, and artistic organiza- 
tions. Participating in all of these, her chief pursuit 
was still to develop the best latent in all persons, 
herself included, — a universal learning, helping, do- 
ing. "Give me persons," she said. " I must have 
people ; they are my passion ; 1 must see them grow. 
1 have often been deceived in them, and yet each 
new person intoxicates me as with wonderful possi- 
bilities." 

The import of this life was great. It was true to 
nature. It sowed seed everywhere, without count 
of harvests; we know not where its hidden germs 
may spring. This underlying fidelity to a true type 
conferred its powers, confirmed its possibilities, and 
lo* 1 49 



Bnnc C. X. JBotta 

stamped its value as above the common estimate. 
For it is the want of just such characters that makes 
modern life, in the aggregate, the petty, personal 
limitation and compromise that it is. With her, we 
breathed a rarer air. Some one spoke to her with 
surprise of her having condoned the "ungrateful 

and treacherous conduct" of toward herself. 

"Did act badly toward me? 1 had forgotten 

it. He has done some excellent work." This was 
in consonance with a paragraph from one of her 
letters: " No one ever deceives us. We deceive our- 
selves. We lay the gilding on thickly, and are sur- 
prised when it dims and cracks, forgetting that this is 
the nature of gilding. Pure gold is not of our inven- 
tion, but we meet it so rarely that we invent some- 
thing else to take its place, in our need of ideal 
natures." 

Mrs. Botta asked for no stage, no clique or coterie; 
desired neither to lead nor to be led ; had no rigid 
compact with conventionalities: was held in no ma- 
terial bondage : envied no individual sway over 
any mind or heart ; set her personal seal nowhere ; 
offered no molds and accepted none : but challenged 
facts and men upon their own basis. She had no 
standard but truth ; no rules but moral responsibility 
and moral freedom ; no love that had the taint of 
selfishness ; no hope that did not include the eternal 
well-being and doing of a perfectible humanity. Ask- 
ing only to live largely and truly, she left the rest to 
divine justice. At an age when most persons have 
a cherished mental equipment, — to doubt one detail 

150 



IRecollections 

of which accumulation is an offense, because it rep- 
resents the "I" to them, — Mrs. Botta's mind, on the 
contrary, seemed ever in flux, ever ready to re-com- 
bine, or to be held in critical suspension, precipitating 
anew at fresh evidence. Hers was not alone the 
hospitality of the roof-tree, but the hospitality of the 
mind as well. In her was infinite harborage. She 
might not accept our ideals, but she never profaned 
them. She understood with heart and intellect alike, 
even to the wrong-doing, which she took for an error 
of the mind, and strove to correct with nobler reason- 
ing. As one who listens to the separate notes of 
that song which is the whole of life, she asked no 
solution of its "permitted discords," but saw that 
these enhanced the harmonies, and, declining to limit 
it, rejoiced to live it, to share its highest meaning, as 
she understood it, with all. 

This meaning was divinely human. Hence the 
larger part of her good deeds escaped observation. 
They were the outcome of that cordial faith which 
ruled the sweet and secret recesses of her nature : 
the belief that man is here for service to his fellow- 
man. Yet those who came to her for partiality or 
emotional sentimentalism came in vain. '* There is a 
hysteria of the heart as there is hysteria of the nerves, " 
she said ; " let us avoid both." Slow to judgment, 
she could indefinitely postpone the progress of ' ' mak- 
ing up her mind " when her knowledge was insuf- 
ficient. Capable of rashly generous impulses, she 
never weakened to a regret, but, accepting all conse- 
quences, lived serenely in each day. A duty wore 

'5' 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

a joyous guise. The attempt to reduce the universe 
to a creed or a formula had never been made by her ; 
but she often said that the closing stanzas of " The 
Light of Asia " expressed her belief in sequential order 
and law, and once exclaimed : 

" ' . . . utter sure 
Its measures mete, its faultless balance weighs.' 

Can any one ask more or less than absolute justice ? " 
The writer, knowing Mrs. Botta for the last four- 
teen years of her life, had the good fortune to 
"inherit" her, as she said, from her grandfather, 
Chief Justice Ellis Lewis, who greatly admired Mrs. 
Botta in her youth, and whose maturity she in turn 
admired. This friendship had its afterglow in the 
later closer tie. Mrs. Botta's interest in those 
younger than herself was a benign influence unfold- 
ing her nature to the eager " heir." 

She spoke of ideal friendship, and said of a friend ; 
"She loves me for myself alone, just as 1 am ; yet I 
wish to be loved also for what I might be. The 
ideal self alone merits the ideal friend." She was 
not a woman of words, but one twilight hour she 
said: "I must have a little name for you; 1 shall 

call you ; and you will call me Bottina — the 

little Botta." Laughing, 1 replied: "You cannot 
disassociate love from your husband ! " A delicate 
flush ran up among the silvered tendrils of her hair ; 
for a moment she seemed to commune inwardly, 
then a light kindled in her eyes, and she said : " You 

•52 



1RecoUection6 

have seen my portrait-bust of Botta, have n't you ? 
It came to me like an inspiration, though I worked 
long over it, and now he always looks like that to 
me." This bust is an admirable likeness of Professor 
Botta in earlier life, and still it has that ideal aspect in 
which a man reveals himself to one beholder only. 

In my note-book of those days, I find some conver- 
sations with Mrs. Botta which show at its best a 
certain delicate sportiveness she had, while at the 
same time her deeper character revealed itself. Speak- 
ing of an adventuress who exploited her kindness, she 
said: "I was warned not to know her. But Eve 
would taste for herself, you know. Besides, she 
could n't harm me. At my age, there is no moral 
contagion possible. You cannot inoculate an old 
woman" (here she laughed); "but she may still 
wish to understand a young one. One never knows 
whether people can be helped till one tries. But she 
only wanted to use me. She abused me instead, for 
I had to let her go. She was very beautiful, poor 
creature. That attracted me so much. I suppose it 
was the source of all her troubles, but that does n't 
prevent you and me from wishing we were beautiful, 
does it ? " Here she laughed again. This little laugh 
of Mrs. Botta's — short, odd, and whimsical — might 
almost have been called her personal accent. It had 
a gentle satire, but somehow cheered. If a friend 
said some impatient or tactless thing, Mrs. Botta 
laughed, and lo ! the tenor of the speech seemed 
changed. She laughed as we laugh at the clever 
waywardness of a beloved child, and the air was 

'53 



Bnne C. %. asotta 

cleared of all offense. Often her wholesome humor 
took herself for butt. 

"If you bait your line with a person, you can 
always catch me." 

" You and 1 live on our nerves ; it 's true we have 
plenty of them." 

"Mr. always talks to me as if I were a 

young and beautiful woman. 1 do not like it — 
perhaps because it continually reminds me that I 
never was beautiful." 

' ' 1 always wish I had had my photograph taken 
when Mr. Emerson was staying in my house. Every 
one felt his influence, even the servants, who would 
hardly leave the dining-room. 1 looked like a differ- 
ent being, and was so happy 1 forgot to see that he 
had enough to eat." 

" When I look back on what 1 thought and wrote 
when 1 was young, I can see that 1 have not grown 
much since then. 1 was ahead of myself, 1 am now 
living and helping others to live what 1 saw clearly 
at that time — a long assimilation and digestion. Yes, 
I am much the same, but for the fact of becoming 
now what 1 then thought. I have lived all I knew, 
yet I feel as if I had only half lived" (laughing); 
" perhaps that was because 1 always had an imperfect 
circulation." Mrs. Botta then produced some of her 
earlier writings in confirmation of her view, and, 
indeed, it seemed that her mind had been luminous 
from a very early age. Certain it is that she took 
humanity as she found it; she asked no questions, 
passed no criticisms, proffered no condemnations. 

'54 



IRecollections 

When asked, " How can you tolerate such false char- 
acters?" she replied, "Why not? They tolerate me; 
yet I am their opposite." If she were wronged, 
a genial amusement was all she permitted herself. 
But if wrong were done to another she uttered a 
direct, kindly note of warning to the offender. In 
magnanimity she was entire. Hers was the triumph 
of character. A diligent and devoted daughter, an ideal 
mate, a faithful and compassionate friend, melodious 
in verse, careful and able in literary work, talented in 
modeling, vivacious and refreshing in society, — we 
can still put all these gifts and traits aside as pure 
adornment, for her real secret consisted in none of 
these; her real value lay beyond, at the core of her 
nature. It was her equipoise that made her truly great. 
The fountainhead of all she was is that sublime 
charity which thinketh no evil and hateth naught. 
After a three years' separation, we met again, a 
few weeks before her death. Taking my arm, she 
walked and talked much of her latest work, a life- 
size bust which she was modeling in clay. Her in- 
tense interest in this occupation exhausted her. "I 
do not even walk any more since I began it, but 
meeting you has inspirited me. I can do nothing but 
work on that bust. It is like being in love for the 
first time. I am absorbed ; I forget everything else. 
If I have succeeded, I am enraptured ; 1 need no food ; 
I am filled with new wine. If I fail, I am utterly 
broken down; it is as if the beloved one were dead." 
The work progressed slowly ; it met with mishaps ; 
she lost touch with it at times. Importuned to put 

'55 



Bnne C. X. JSotta 

it temporarily aside, she refused with what was al- 
most vehemence, and betrayed a nervous exaltation. 
"This work is something 1 have," she exclaimed, 
"which cannot be taken away. Friends depart — 
we have no friends, but only befriending circumstan- 
ces drawing one to another until change dissolves 
adhesion. Old age comes on, and the common life 
shrinks away from us; but art is an enchanted 
country where 1 can always lose myself. We can- 
not be exacting of humanity, but of art we may de- 
mand everything." 

The last meeting came unknown, as it comes so 
often, mercifully. We walked together on Broadway, 
and at parting 1 drew her back upon a door-step to 
rally her upon an abstraction which continued to 
disquiet me. " Since coming here," I said, " 1 have 
not really come near you. You are living in a far 
country. No report from you of its climate, or of its 
conditions. You have eloped with art, your work 
under your arm. When will you come back from 
that distant land to live among mortals again ? " Her 
eyes deepened as she pressed my hands. "Never, 
perhaps," she murmured, and dropped into the 
living stream. I watched the slight, active figure 
with its vivacious movement, borne onward in the 
crowd, and, as I watched, she slipped away from 
me — away into the hereafter. On the following 
Wednesday I kept my engagement to pass the 
morning with her — but it was at her funeral. That 
"Never, perhaps," was the last word of a friend- 
ship to me unique. 

156 



TRecoIIectlons 

Short as was her last illness, it sufficed to make 
new friends through her sublime unselfishness, which 
manifested itself in thought for the comfort of her 
physicians and nurses, even to within a few hours 
of her passage from earthly cares. The thought of 
death did not visit those last hours. She slept — and 
passed on. But often in her lifetime she expressed 
a wish that no publicity, no crowd, no floral tributes 
should impair the quiet privacy of her funeral, and, 
in her exquisite modesty, she wished not to be seen 
after death. And so it was. Yet a tribute of which 
she had no conception was, and ever will be, hers, 
arising from all who knew her. They turn be- 
wildered faces to a life bereft of her unswerving 
testimony to life's highest elements. They do not 
lament her loss so much as the artist and the poet, 
but as the woman endowed so liberally with the 
attributes of strength and justice. The incalculable 
service she rendered to her era lay in showing the 
beauty, the far-reaching usefulness and power of a 
mind devoted to lofty ideals. 



•57 




a perfect Moman 

By Dr. Wallace Wood, New-York. 



My dear Mr. Botta : 

GLADLY comply with your request. Now 
that time has taken off the keenest edge of 
our grief, it is easier to speak of her. Yet it 
seems but yesterday that she was with us. Alas ! 
how will humanity ever be able to bear with equa- 
nimity the visitation of the master evil, death? 

In a village churchyard, not far away, I recently 
read upon the tomb of an unknown these words : 
"Perfect wife, perfect mother, perfect friend." I 
repeated them over and over. Here was an ideal of 
the highest excellence for this "rude hamlet." My 
thoughts flew back to the town and the great world, 
and to the perfection in a wider sphere of her we 
mourn ; for of her it must be written down that she 
was historian, poet, sculptor, philanthropist, as well 
as wife, friend, social leader; and that in none of these 
roles could it be said that she was imperfect. Such 
versatility and power recall to the mind the record of 
exceptional natures and great epochs like the Renais- 
sance. Of that strange inborn energy in her all can 

.58 



B perfect "imoman 

speak ; we all know of the long outdoor walks she 
took, even up to the time of her death, and how she 
always descended the stairs with a run. 

The first thing one observed in her mind, it seems 
to me, was its quick interest in the highest and 
greatest things. The atmosphere of the true, the 
beautiful, and the good was what she breathed ; her 
sympathy was wide, — she seemed ever to see the 
universe and humanity, and to conceive of them as 
wholes ; a mind not learned nor laborious, yet truly 
philosophic, in harmony with Plato and Emerson, 
seeing the unity amid all variety. By this faculty she 
conceived and executed the *' Handbook of Universal 
Literature," one of the most useful books in any 
language. Literature is, simply and scientifically, the 
soul of humanity; this truth she saw, — this soul 
through that work she pictured whole and complete. 
She had a horror of disje^a membra. Universal history 
as at present written, she said, is pieced up of the 
head of one nation, the body of another, the limbs 
of the next, and so on ; and she had already planned 
and begun to work out the same scheme for the 
philosophic unity of history that she had achieved for 
literature. 

One might have known her for years, yet without 
having read her poems. When this volume is opened 
to such a one, it will be a revelation. Here she has 
pictured her own soul, complete, frank; all its wishes, 
all its aspirations, its loves, its longings, exactly what 
she thinks and feels on all the highest and grandest 
subjects, as well as those within the deepest and most 

•59 



anne C. X. 38otta 

mysterious recesses of the heart. Oliver Wendell 
Holmes somewhere says that there are two modes 
by which the soul may express itself wholly and free, 
may dare to be sincere. One way is prayer, the other 
poesie. This volume is a frank and free confession 
looking upward. One rises from its perusal and ex- 
claims : " What a perfect picture of a soul ! " Here is 
Divine Sincerity herself. If every one of our friends, 
each man and woman, could or would thus write 
himself or herself down in a hundred pages, what a 
new spiritual world we could create ! At the moment, 
1 think of no other volume to compare with it except 
the poems of Schiller. Here, too, we have confession 
looking upward: "The Highest," "Immortality," 
" The Ideal of Woman," " Love and Desire," 
"Virtue," "Goodness and Greatness," are some of 
the titles. 

We turn to the titles in her works and see what 
subjects were of interest to her: "Nobility," "En- 
durance," "Aspiration," "VitaNuova," "Wishes," 
" Longing," " Unrest," "Memory," "Hope," "The 
Ideal," "The Ideal Found," "The Hero," "To the 
Sun," "The Earth to the Sun," "Faith," "Love," 
"Sweetness," " Largess." What a perfect poem is 
the sonnet on " Aspiration " ! One can never read it 
without feeling the thrill of a higher impulse. 

History she loved for its grandeur and its dignity. 
Heroism always moved her. Prometheus and Jeanne 
d'Arc were her favorite subjects in art. 

She was an idealist in the best sense, always moved 
most by the noblest and the highest. The universe, 

160 



B perfect TiUloman 

the divine, humanity, were for her real things, — ex- 
istences, organism, friends ; so also were literature, 
art, science ; and so were all men and women, for 
she always saw the divine in them. 1 often asked 
her what she loved most, and her replies settled 
finally to this: " 1 love literature, art, science, and 
men and women." In fact, was it not just upon 
these subjects that she was always alert, eager to 
question, ready to listen? 

In fiimiliar acquaintance with our dear Mrs. Botta, 
how surely do we find the refutation of the idea that 
greatness of mind in woman may endanger that 
sacred femininity which in all society is so highly 
prized. She was womanly — more, she was in- 
tensely feminine : anti-masculine, so to speak, — a 
dainty being, a creature of rose-leaves and laces. In 
manner and conversation she had that beautiful com- 
bination of sentiment and naivete which is so very 
rare, and having which a woman is always charming, 
and charming up to the utmost length of her days. 
In style the same quality shows itself in a perfect bal- 
ance again to run between the tragic muse and the 
muse of comedy. She was the one without gloom, 
and the other without coquetry or any tinge of the 
common. This constituted the fascination of two re- 
markable actresses of our time, Mrs. Kendal and Mary 
Anderson. This charm showed itself in Mrs. Botta's 
notes. They were never waste paper. Into a note 
written to a friend she would put a flower like this : 
" Did I expect you to come up last night and read 
Herbert Spencer to me? Yes; 1 did." 



Bnne C. X. JSotta 

How complete was her humanity, how perfect her 
sympathies ! Men and women she loved ; human 
intercourse was like the air she breathed, or food and 
drink, — she could not live a day without it. With a 
housekeeper she would discuss butter and gowns; 
with the United States minister to England she would 
draw out the condition of women in Europe ; for the 
country-school mistress at a watering-place she buys 
Latin dictionaries, and to a crippled boy who shows 
signs of talent she gives lessons in sculpture. The 
doctor and the artist were welcome guests at her 
home; they had something she wished to hear and 
know ; she was interested in both them and their 
work. 

To church she rarely went. She once remarked in 
regard to it: "1 came away as a sheep that was not 
fed." Emerson, in fact, was her pastor. With regard 
to immortality she once expressed herself as not one 
of those who wished to awaken and find themselves 
alive after they were dead. She was fond of reading 
the lines to the divine power in the last part of "The 
Light of Asia." 

What, my dear Professor, is the nature of that 
quality which finding in a human being we instinc- 
tively call divine ? It seems to me it is grandeur and 
height attained without effort: the noble and the 
lofty inherent. We others, common and human, toil 
through all the twelve labors of Heracles, and then 
only catch occasional celestial glimpses. How we 
educate and train and repress and strive and self- 
cultivate, and watch, fight, and pray! — and yet here 

162 



B ipcrfect imoman 

is one, here is a spirit high, noble, lovely, sweet, as 
it were by divine right, just as easily and as naturally 
as a bee is a bee, and a flower is a flower. 

When in the wilderness of this world it is our lot 
to meet with such a one, we can only express our 
feeling by one of two words : divine or perfect. 

Perfect friend, perfect woman, perfect soul, — there 
need be no Purgatorio for thee ! 



163 



Cbaractcristics 

By Andrew Carnegie, New- York. 



.l(^i;^^^S I sit down to write of my dear friend Ma- 
^^^yf dame Botta, wiio lias passed away from us, 
»^^^^^ the first feeling tiiat arises is one of tiianl^ful- 
ness that 1 was privileged to know such a character 
well. Many have the same story to tell of her, for 
one of her chief characteristics was that of recogniz- 
ing and encouraging unknown men and women, and 
giving them opportunities to benefit, not only from 
her own stores of wisdom, and from her charming 
manners and conversation, but from the remarkable 
class she drew around her, of which she was the 
center and cementing bond. 

It would be presumption in me, perhaps, to assert 
that the home of the Bottas was the nearest approach, 
in our country, to the salon of the past, for there may 
be others which rival it in this respect which it has 
not been my good fortune to enter; but, as far as my 
experience goes, 1 found there a circle of wider and 
more varied range than at any other. 1 remember 
well, a New-York lady of fashion once said when 
she heard me extol the Botta reunions, that these 

164 



Cbaracteristics 

evenings were indeed extraordinary ; one met such 
celebrated people, but also such *' queer people," all 
mixed together; one never knew whom one might 
meet there. It can never be very much of a salon in 
which the so-called " queer people " are not found, 
for it is in these that talent and genius in some form 
is very apt to lurk. Madame Botta, the author, the 
sculptor, the critic, and, not least, the charming wo- 
man of the world, had naturally a wider horizon than 
my lady friend who was only the last of these. So- 
ciety with us is iixr too exclusively confined to the 
rich and f^ishionable — the fault of a new civilization. 
In Italy, Germany, France, or England, no woman has 
the slightest pretension to the foremost place in society 
who is not able to draw to her, through congenial 
tastes, the literary, musical, professional, and artistic 
celebrities — the leading ministers, physicians, painters, 
musicians, and actors, and especially the coming man 
or coming woman in these branches. Millionaires 
and fashionables are poor substitutes for the real lions 
of a cultivated society. Madame Botta's lions could 
all roar, more or less ; they were not compelled to 
chatter, or be dumb. 

The position of the Bottas in the literary and artis- 
tic world enabled them to draw together not only 
the best-known people of this country, but to a 
degree greater than any, as far as I know, the most 
distinguished visitors from abroad, beyond the ranks 
of mere title or fashion. No home, I think, in all 
the land compared with theirs in the number and 
character of its foreign visitors. 
"* 165 



Bnne C. %. JBotta 

Of those who contribute to this memorial, I judge 
that none can write from my standpoint, which 
is that of a young unmarried and unknown man, a 
stranger in the great metropolis, whose first entrance 
into such a circle as I have indicated came through 
the dear lady whose loss means so much to all of us. 
It pleases me to remember that 1 am indebted for 
my introduction to her to Courtlandt Palmer, a noble 
soul, always thinking more of others than of self. It 
was with equal surprise and gratification that 1 found 
myself often invited by the Sottas thereafter. Speak- 
ing, long years afterward, of the beginning of our 
intimacy, Madame Botta told me she invited me again 
because some words 1 had spoken the first night 
struck her as a genuine note, although unusual. 

This shows the woman. She passed through life 
with open mind and listening ear, absorbing all that 
appeared to her to be genuine, no matter if unusual, or 
who uttered it, — Pagan, Christian, or Jew. 1 knew 
her well for twenty years, and so lovely was her 
disposition, I never remember her showing even a 
trace of temper but once. Upon this occasion the 
Professor and myself were alone with her. He had, 
half playfully, taken her to task for not placing the 
stamp of disapproval upon the conduct of certain 
rude but well-known people. It was a strong case, 
which the Professor thought justified, and even re- 
quired, rebuke, while Madame had gone out of her 
way to show extreme courtesy. Upon being ap- 
pealed to, I sided strongly with the Professor. The 
moral aspect of the matter was intimated, and our 

!66 



Cbaractcrlstics 

duty to show disapproval as well as approval was 
insisted upon. Something was said about her seem- 
ing indifference to the character and conduct of those 
honored by her. I see the lithe, gentle little woman 
rise and stand at the table quite near to us : " You 
and Botta seem to think that I do not understand and 
disapprove such conduct, and that I overlooked it in 
these people for their sake. You are mistaken ; I 
never thought of them at all, but only what was due 
to myself. People can act as they please, and I am 
sorry it is the nature of some to act as they do : I can 
only act toward them as becomes myself." 

I never heard her say an unkind word of a living 
soul. The sweet influences she exerted were as the 
dews which melt and enrich, never the frosty winds 
which blast. It never required a violation of the 
strictest rules of the gentlest courtesy upon the part 
of Madame Botta to separate the dross from the pure 
gold of society. Indeed, the dross fell away of its own 
accord, for there was no happiness near her for any 
but those natures touched to fine issues. Her for- 
giving nature rendered it impossible to retain the 
sense of personal wrong. One of the most serious 
and instructive interviews 1 ever had with my dear 
mentor and friend was as a peacemaker. Madame 
had felt it to be her duty to withdraw her name from 
a society because one of its officers had, in her opin- 
ion, spoken of the sacred beliefs of others in an un- 
feeling manner which had wounded deeply. It was 
considered desirable to induce Madame to withdraw 
her resignation. The interview gave me an oppor- 

167 



nnnc C. X. 3Sotta 

tunity to listen to her views upon the problems of 
human destiny, — the future, the supernatural, and 
kindred questions. To her, all religions, all forms 
of faith, were useful and good, and to be regarded 
tenderly, sacredly, by all. Matthew Arnold's lines 
were quoted : 

Children of men ! the unseen Power, whose eye 

For ever doth accompany mankind, 
Hath look'd on no religion scornfully 

That men did ever find. 

Which has not taught weak minds how much they can? 

Which has not fall'n on the dry heart like rain? 
Which has not cried to sunk, self-weary man: 

Tbou must be born again ! 

All that was necessary was to assure her that 
the offender was sorry for causing others pain, and 
would be more mindful of their feelings in the future. 
The resignation was withdrawn. 

It is a pity that those who fear that the highest 
education, the widest range of knowledge, upon the 
part of women will make them less feminine, did 
not know Madame Botta. Everything she knew — 
and she knew much, and thought deeply — made 
her a higher type of woman. She had not a trace 
of anything in her whole being which was not ex- 
quisitely feminine, and this made her to many a 
source of refinement and strength which no less able 
woman could have been. 

Her funeral was the sweetest and most genuine 
expression of sorrow 1 have ever seen given for any 

168 



(Ibai-acteri0tic0 

well-known character, man or woman. Only those 
assembled around her grave who could not force 
themselves to stay away. No formal invitations, no 
publicity, no pomp, no eulogy ; only silence and tears; 
and not one tear from any who had not been bene- 
fited by her, and who did not mourn her loss as 
causing a void which could never be filled. None 
can ever take her place in our hearts ; she occupies 
a niche all her own. 

The tribute I pay her memory is, that I am a better 
man because favored with her friendship for many 
long years. 



169 




Ibcr 1bo6pitalit\> 

By Kate Sanborn, Ntw-YoRK. 



^N sketching some of the literary women of 
New-York, their salons, their achievements, 
their home life, Mrs. Botta naturally headed 
the list. For many years she was a conspicuous 
and popular leader in society. When the city was 
smaller and life less hurried, she held weekly recep- 
tions which closely resembled the French salon ; and 
although later those evenings became less frequent, 
they lost none of their distinctive character. In fact, 
she created a salon here, and made it a brilliant suc- 
cess, without the least effort or pretension, without 
even offering a sandwich to her happy guests ; but 
lighting her evening lamp in her modest parlors in 
Ninth street, simply let it be known that she would 
be '• at home" on Saturday evenings. 

" 1 never made much of a point of it," she said ; 
" it was natural, and 1 liked it. 1 was not fashion- 
able, nor rich, and literary people were my com- 
panions." That was the open secret. She did 
easily what others have striven for in vain. 

170 



fbcx Ibospitalttg 

Mrs. Botta (Anne Charlotte Lynch) was born in 
Bennington, Vermont. Her grandfather was Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Gray, of Connecticut, who served his 
country through the entire Revolutionary War ; her 
father, a brave Irish lad who at sixteen was made a 
prisoner by the English for refusing to take the oath 
of allegiance to their government, and who, after four 
years of confinement, became an exile, banished 
with Emmet and other noble men who loved lib- 
erty, if need be, better than life. 

Mrs. Botta was a woman of versatile talent, known 
as a teacher, compiler, poet, sculptor, philanthropist, 
and hostess. Perhaps the ease with which she could 
excel in such various departments prevented her 
gaining the high distinction she might have won if 
devoted to a specialty. But her life was beautifully 
rounded, full of good deeds, quiet charities, helpful 
words for the many who, needing one favor or an- 
other, crowded to her hospitable door. 1 have sel- 
dom made a morning call on her without finding 
some applicant for assistance. To be a guest in her 
house is a privilege never to be forgotten, and letters 
from Frederika Bremer, Emerson, Froude, Kingsley, 
Lord Amberly, and a number of great men and 
women show how fully her gift of entertaining 
genius, in a restful way, was enjoyed, appreciated, 
and remembered. A winter as her guest is one of 
the precious memories of my life. Helen Hunt 
wrote the following beautiful sonnet, expressing 
what so many have felt who have enjoyed the 
privilege of her hospitality. 

171 



Bnnc C. %. JBotta 



TO A. C. L. 



Thy house hath gracious freedom, like the air 

Of open fields ; its silence hath a speech 

Of royal welcome to the friends who reach 

Its threshold ; and its upper chambers bear, 

Above their doors, such spells that, entering there 

And laying off the dusty garments, each 

Soul whispers to herself : " 'T were like a breach 

Of reverence in a temple, could 1 dare 

Here speak untruth, here wrong my inmost thought. 

Here I grow strong and pure ; here 1 may yield, 

Without shamefacedness, the little brought 

From out my poorer life, and stand revealed, 

And glad, and trusting, in the sweet, and rare, 

And tender presence which hath filled this air." 



At one of her informal " breakfasts," 1 met Emer- 
son. Bayard Taylor, Bryant, and ' * Grace Greenwood," 
all in their best mood. Emerson and Taylor dis- 
cussed Bettina von Arnim, the child-love, or child- 
lover, of Goethe ; and Mrs. Lippincott's stories were 
not a whit behind, and were told with an ease, a 
dash, and a climax that few possess. Those were 
golden hours. 

Mrs.Botta's evening receptions — where everybody 
was "somebody." and no one was unduly lionized 
or neglected, while each was inspired by her graceful 
and sympathetic tact to do his best, and every one 
went away reluctantly, feeling stimulated, refreshed, 
and happy — are traced in many a heart in letters 

17: 



•fcer Ibospltalits 

of gold. Her power to assimilate and magnetize 
amounted to genius. 

In 1849 ^'ss Lynch published a small volume of 
poems. In i860 appeared her "Handbook of Uni- 
versal Literature," a laborious compilation, a com- 
prehensive yet carefully condensed view of the 
literature of the world. This is largely used not 
only for reference but as a text-book in academies, 
schools, and colleges. 

Those who knew Miss Lynch remember her as 
a graceful, animated, well-dressed woman, with a 
smile like sunshine, full of life and humor and hearty 
relish for social delights. Willis, who knew her 
well, speaks of her "sweet geniality and unconscious 
foiintaiiii;(mg of bright and pleasant things." His 
letters to her are full of honest admiration and the 
sincerest regard. 

Mr. P brought in the last news of you. But we could only 

gather from him that you were as charming as ever and were 
going to Washington. You keep enjoying this planet. Nobody 
lives more while about it. I only wish you would now and then 
hold the burning-glass of your genius still long enough to burn 
a hole. Genius you have; concentration you have no time for. 
Tell us if that smile of yours, which you ought not to die without 
seeing, is as bewitching as ever. 

Even while just starting for Europe, he finds time, 
while waiting in a banker's office, to give his friend 
this inspiriting advice : 

Write and show the mind I see in you, and hold yourself high 
among the highly gifted. 

'7^ 



nnnc a. %. JBotta 

The visit to Washington resulted in securing a 
grant of several thousand dollars for her mother. 
She wrote a pamphlet, stating in a powerful and 
convincing way. that the brave soldiers of the Revo- 
lution, who gave all to their country and saved it from 
humiliation, had been unjustly treated and their fam- 
ilies left to want. This was distributed in the Senate 
with good effect, and, with the eloquent assistance 
of Henry Clay, she gained her point. It was a great 
triumph for a woman, and required unusual courage 
and persistence, tact and talent. She did not pose as 
a suppliant, or even ask a gratuity, it was a solemn 
right, and truth conquered. 

In i8ss Miss Lynch was married to Vincenzo Botta, 
then professor of philosophy in the Royal Colleges of 
Piedmont, an ex-member of the Subalpine Parlia- 
ment, author of a valuable book on Dante, a mono- 
graph on Cavour, and other scholarly essays, besides 
being a valued correspondent of the best Italian 
papers. 

I have spoken of Mrs. Botta's compilations and 
poems. Her letters to newspapers were most accepta- 
ble, and her power in modeling was acknowledged by 
all who had seen her works. She might have distin- 
guished herself in this di''ection, undoubtedly, if so 
many people had not almost demanded her help in 
various ways, and she could never refuse to help the 
suffering or distressed. Always appreciative of thegifts 
of others, quick to see talent and glad to make it known, 
her life was in a large sense one of self-abnegation 
and devotion to her friends. In all these years no 

'74 



Iber 1bosp(taliti2 

one has heard her say an ill-natured word of any one, 
however she may have been imposed upon. Yet she 
was not by any means lacking in a keen sense of the 
ludicrous, and might have been a most witty and 
scathing critic if she had not been principled against 
paining others or shining at their expense. 

What a book of recollections she could have given 
us, knowing intimately so many noted persons! At 
her early receptions were to be found Edgar Poe, 
Horace Greeley, the Gary sisters, pretty Fanny Osgood, 
Mrs. Oakes Smith, Mrs. Ellet, Mary Hewitt, Eliza 
Leslie, Doctor Griswold, Bayard Taylor, and Catherine 
Sedgwick, that bright novelist who has given us a 
most graphic pen-picture of a Saturday evening at 
Miss Lynch's : 

I passed to the drawing-room of Miss L . It was her re- 
ception evening. I was admitted to a rather dimly lighted hall 
by a little portress, some ten or twelve years old, who led me to 
a small apartment to deposit my hat and cloak. There was no 
lighted staircase, no trained attendant, none of the common 
flourish at city parties. . . . 

When I entered 1 found two fair-sized drawing-rooms filled with 
guests in a high state of social enjoyment. There was music, 
dancing, recitation, and conversation. There were artists in every 
department — painting, poetry, sculpture, and music. There I 
saw, for the first time, that impersonation of genius, Ole Bull. 
Even the histrionic art asserted its right to social equality in the 
person of one of its most honorable professors. 

No one ever needed an aegis less than my lovely hostess. She 
has that quiet delicacy and dignity of manner that is as a glittering 
angel to exorcise every evil spirit that should venture to approach 
her. . . . 

Here was a young woman without " position," to use the cant 

'75 



Bnnc C. %. JSotta 

phrase, — without any relations in the fashionable world, — filling 
her rooms weekly with choice spirits, who came without any ex- 
traordinary expense of dress, who enjoyed high rational pleasure 
for two or three hours, and retired so early as to make no drafts 
on the health or spirits of the next day. 

One bright, vivacious, lovable woman described 
by another ! What can be better than that ? Mrs. 
Botta was always full of life, fond of exercise, going 
to market every day. a perfect housekeeper, ready 
for any new ideas on hygiene or grace of movement 
from the exponents of Delsarte to the latest recipe for 
gingerbread. She used to be a famous pedestrian, 
once accomplishing seventy-two miles in four days, 
and one short year ago came running down two 
flights of stairs to greet me, as if she were in her 
teens. Such vitality, cheerfulness, and wise philo- 
sophy as regards the inevitable are rare endowments. 

Her collection of letters from distinguished men 
and women is unusually precious, because her cor- 
respondents glowed in sympathy with her own 
heart-warmth. Those of Frederika Bremer are in- 
teresting for their simplicity, quaint foreign wording, 
and deep religious devotion. 

In a copy of the "Neighbors" sent by Miss 
Bremer to her new friend, was written this poem: 

TO ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH. 

A bird of paradise I wished to see ; 
One of those beings more than others free. 
Who soar o'er earth with colors bright and gay, 
But never lower down to touch its clay ; 
176 



•fcer iJOspUalltB 

Who, frail and delicate, yet need not cling 
For rest or help but to their soaring wing. 
My wish was heard; a being bright and gay 
I saw ; who was on earth as was not earth its stay ; 
Who, in this crowded world looked all alone, 
With eyes that melancholy, yet serenely shone ; 
A being young in years, but wonderfully wise — 
It is Anne Lynch, my bird of paradise. 

Emerson was several times a guest of Mrs. Botta. 
He liked to be in her home and to be with her, say- 
ing it " rested" him — a decided compliment. 

Here is one of his letters after such a visit : 

Concord, 29th Dec, 1865. 

Dear Mrs. Botta : You were such a good angel to me in New- 
York, that I have wished, every hour since 1 came home, to say 
to you that 1 know well how rare such goodness is, and that I 
prize it at its height. 

To be sure, 1 know little or nothing of New- York, but 1 fancy 
that few people in it use it so well, have so wise possession of 
it as yourself. I wish that 1 could believe that in your miles of 
palaces were many houses and housekeepers as excellent as 1 knew 
at 25 West 37th street. The house is so apt to spoil the tenant, 
and society to brain its votary, that sense and simplicity and good- 
will must not be accepted as things of course, but as most ex- 
ceptional splendors ; and my New-Year's wish is, that where I 
found these, they will long, long shine for the benefit of all be- 
holders, and to the well-being and better and best being of the 
luminary, and indeed the chief good is the exercise of our powers 
and affections. . . . 

He writes after her return from Paris : 

1 was very glad to hear that you were safe home again to me 
and all of us in your house of the expanding doors. I am glad 
12 177 



Bnnc C. X. 36otta 

you saw Sainte-Beuve. I grieve that he is gone. He was for me 
the best of his nation in the late years. 

And again, November 30, 1869: 

Thanks for your unfailing memory and good-will. Pity me 
that 1 cannot yet use the hospitalities you offer me. I please my- 
self, like other aging and aged men, with visions of leisure and 
the finer employments that shall fill it — too long delayed; the 
leisure that flies before is unattainable. Will it always? I am 
then to be a poet, a friend, and turn days into heaven. But to- 
day and to-morrow, and the year through, I find myself the 
drudge of tasks I cannot praise. But the taskmaster lets gleams 
and streams of sunshine in, and consoles us with friends and new 
promises. 

He speaks of her invitation as "one of the hap- 
piest rainbows." 

Your hospitality has an Arabian memory, to keep its kind 
purpose through such a long time. You were born under Hatem 
Yayi'si own star, and, like him, are the genius of hospitality. 

He once more alluded to this : 

The great Hindoo, Hatem Yayi, has nothing by the side of such 
hospitality as hers. Hatem Yayi would soon lose his reputation. 

These letters, hitherto unpublished, are extremely 
valuable, as is, also, the following one from Mrs. 
Charles Kingsley, sending a copy of her life of her 
noble husband. 

Among the first copies of my " Memoirs " 1 sent one to you, 
for I could not bear to think that you should read the book in 

1 Hatem Yayi was a celebrated Oriental whose house had sixteen 
doors. 

.78 



■fcer IbospltalitB 

any copy but one direct from me, accompanied by my grateful 
love. It will quite hurt me if you should have seen the book 
before receiving your own, dear Mrs. Botta. Oh ! how often my 
heart has turned to you in grateful love for all your goodness to him, 
and how I have longed to express something of what I felt (but 
how little words would do it !) to you ; but, while in sickness of 
body and sore anguish of soul I was writing, I dared not spend 
a breath of life on letters, lest the pen should drop from my hand 
before my sacred task was done. Do not think me ungrateful. 
You made him so happy. You gave him and my Rose such a 
home and such a home-feeling in the great New World — a 
world I shall always love for its appreciation of him and his 
works at a time when he was not so responded to in his own 
country. 

To give just a glimpse of Mrs. Botta's humor, let 
me quote two trifles : 

A draught from Helicon could once inspire 
The bard to wing in song his loftiest flight; 

But poets of these later days require 

A draft from Wall street — payable at sight. 

With you and General Lyman 
To dine alone! — why, man ! 
What would dear Mrs. Grundy 
Report of such a Sunday? 
How think of such a dinner? 
Just think of it, thou sinner ! 

I should like to introduce you to her home as it 
was — the hall, with its interesting pictures and 
fragrant with fresh flowers ; the dining-room, the 
drawing-rooms, with their magnetized atmosphere 
of the past (you can almost feel the presence of those 

179 



anne C. X. JBotta 

who have loved to linger there) ; her own sanctum, 
where a chosen few were admitted : but the limits 
of space forbid. The queens of Parisian salons have 
been praised and idealized till we are led to believe 
them unapproachable in their social altitude. But 1 
am not afraid to place beside them an American 
lady, uncrowned by extravagant adulation, but fully 
their equal — the artist, poet, conversationist, Anne 
C. L. Botta. 

At her last evening at home, four days before her 
fatal illness, she seemed in perfect health. Her sweet 
and gracious smile of welcome was never more kindly 
and attractive, her thoughtful care for each guest, with- 
out seeming to think, was just as of old. We looked 
forward to many more such reunions as we bade her 
good night. 

Her death, distressingly sudden to her intimate 
friends, was after all a beautiful departure. She left 
earth while still young in heart, still enjoying life, her 
active brain showing no symptoms of declining vigor. 
She has joined "the choir invisible," and is still an 
inspiring influence, though unseen. 



180 




Iber Salon 

By a. J. Bloor, New-York. 

WAS just out of my teens, and at the feet 
of the great leaders in "high thoughts" 
expressed, in varying dialects, through all 
the literatures of previous ages, when, in a biography 
of Sarah Margaret Fuller d'Ossoli which came from 
the hands of Emerson and others, 1 read, in a foot- 
note, of Miss Lynch's salon in the city of my res- 
idence. With that celerity of imagination which 
belongs to the young, I at once pictured it as an 
American reproduction of Lady Blessington's or of 
the Duchess of Sutherland's, — which had hardly yet 
ceased to exist, — or of Madame Recamier's, of a 
somewhat earlier generation ; and when, some years 
later, and after Miss Lynch had become Mrs. Botta, 
I was presented to her at the house of a mutual 
friend, 1 was greatly pleased to have our conversation 
close with her promise, given with the quiet smile 
she retained to the end of her days, to send me a 
card to the next conversazione at her house. Of 
course 1 went, and as she welcomed guest after 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

guest, some of them of great distinction in one field 
or another, and some of little or no mark, 1 first 
noted, extended to each, that gracious mixture of 
equanimity and cordiality — with just enough change 
in the expression of the latter as befitted the differ- 
ence between an old friend and a new acquaintance — 
which, for more than thirty-three years thereafter, 
I was so often to note in her demeanor to others as 
well as to experience in my own person. 

Two or three other women in New-York, contem- 
poraneously with Mrs. Botta, succeeded in establish- 
ing real salons. Some others attempted the same, 
but were unsuccessful. At that time society in the 
city was, as it is now, divided into several sets, each 
having an acknowledged leader, or two or more rival 
leaders who tried to surround themselves with social 
circles of their own. But, even after allowing for the 
differences necessarily resulting from bourgeois con- 
ditions, as compared with those prevailing in com- 
munities where titular distinctions exist under the 
law, and where the social world is led by a Court, or 
the traditions of one, none of these sets included 
salons in the cosmopolitan sense of the term. One 
or more of them — not necessarily, by any means, 
consisting only of notiveaiix rich&s, or of persons 
deficient in at least superficial culture — depended 
largely for prestige on the appointments which wealth 
enabled them to put en evidence; though at that time 
there was hardly a house in New-York that had cost, 
all told, as much as has since been spent on the dec- 
orative fixtures of a single room, and ceilings costing 



t)er Salon 

ten thousand dollars, and dinners at a hundred dollars 
or more a cover, were as yet unknown on this side 
of the Atlantic. Another set plumed itself on hav- 
ing grandfathers who were among the signers of 
the Declaration of Independence, or whose great- 
grandfathers had bought from the Indians — for a few 
hatchets and rifles piled up on a foundation of kegs of 
rum and topped off with some strings of beads for the 
squaws — a parcel of thousands of acres of wild land 
on which the cities and suburbs of their descendants 
grew up — to fill their pockets with "unearned in- 
crement" ; and these good folks doubtless felt just as 
happy with this modicum of " ancient lineage" as a 
Sussex yeoman does who works with his hands, for 
others, on the same land that his forefathers worked 
for themselves, before base-born duke came in with 
his horde of Norman Adullamites, — or as a Parsee 
does, who speaks familiarly of his ancestors before 
the Christian era. 

Still another coterie included those who had come 
to their position through their own or their fathers' 
successes in commerce and finance; while some 
women of fashion had built up their vogue by adding 
their private fortunes to the professional earnings of 
their husbands, and on the initials D. D. or M. D., 
spelt large in Latin on the latters' college parch- 
ments ; and the helpmate of the successful prac- 
titioner at law serenely repeated to herself, if not to 
others, her worse half's quotation of De Tocqueville's 
dictum, that the lawyers were the real aristocrats of 
America. But, at their receptions, one felt that one 

183 



anne C. X. asotta 

was not in what, in the best sense of the term, could 
be called a salon; one felt that whatever pretensions 
might be openly or tacitly made, there was, in fact, an 
atmosphere more or less home and provincial. The 
Italian proverb, M/ date creta per cacio, was apt to 
come to one's mind. Yet, none the less, an evening 
spent at these gatherings was always enjoyed ; rep- 
resented, as they were, by hospitable hosts, by 
friendly, intellectual, often well-read men, and by 
charming women who frequently were more cultured 
than the men. 

There are women who, like Florence Nightingale, 
devote themselves to a higher mission than even the 
not unimportant one of providing an exchange for the 
softening and ameliorative courtesies of society ; and 
there are others, of the best intellectual and moral 
grade, whose devotion to their own domestic circle 
and its collaterals is so absorbing as to leave them 
no desire or no leisure for a wider circle ; while there 
are still others, well fitted in many respects, both 
interior and exterior, to be leaders, who have a horror 
of what they call "miscellaneous gatherings." 

At all events, there were certainly ladies of the 
sets I have referred to who were seemingly not up to 
forming a real salon, — as often, perhaps, owing to 
circumstances and influences outside of their control 
as to deficiencies inherent in themselves. The unsuc- 
cess of others often resulted — probably not, as they 
themselves imagined, from lack of means and suffi- 
ciently imposing exterior appointments ; but from the 
opposite — that is, from the too lavish display of such 

184 



•fcer Salon 

as they could afford, or rather from their making it 
appear, unconsciously perhaps to themselves, that 
they chiefly depended not on their own qualities, 
but on those of their exterior belongings, for achiev- 
ing the distinction of attracting to their drawing- 
rooms and tables the varying, assimilative human 
material which forms the stock in trade of the woman 
who has the genius for forming and maintaining a 
salon. Their assumed standard was sometimes felt 
to be too artificial and assailable ; the deus ex machina 
was too much in evidence to allow their guests the 
sense of ease which is essential to the interchange 
of social qualities at their best. Their preparations 
were so obviously elaborate as to leave no room for 
the comfortable impression that they were virtually 
impromptu — that they gave sufficient promise of re- 
currence and continuance. It is with mental capital 
as it is with financial. Its possessor does not care to 
waste it on experimental operations likely to lead 
to little or no profit; he desires, in either case, to 
make a permanent and profitable investment. More- 
over, a simple cup of tea or bouillon is more con- 
ducive to the " high thoughts" supposed to pervade 
an elegant conversa:(ione than are pates de foie gras 
and champagne, with all their indigestible congeners 
a discretion. 

It goes without saying that the woman who is the 
head of a distinguished salon in a great metropolitan 
center, must possess, in great degree, the propelling 
and administrative powers that are needed by leaders 
in any other walk of life. The statesman, the cap- 

.85 



Bnnc C. %, 36otta 

tain, the financier, the merchant, the man of letters, 
the artist, the professional man of any kind, achieves 
eminence, within his opportunities, by the exercise of 
precisely the same foresight, application, energy, and 
industry. And by similar forces and similar methods 
the woman of society forms and maintains the salon 
which gathers within its walls the cream of her en- 
tourage, and forms an exchange not for the coarser — 
if essential — commodities of the field and the mine, 
but for those gifts of intellect, breeding, and courtesy 
which, to the highly trained man or woman, are 
such essential elements to happiness, and which so 
largely contribute to refine and sweeten every-day 
life. But every man who leads must have some 
special gift from nature, without which he could not 
have got to the top level of his specialty. And it is 
so with the woman who makes and presides over 
a distinguished salon. 

My observations have made it clear to my mind 
that the failure of not a few women who were other- 
wise well-endowed by nature and training, and suf- 
ficiently favored by fortune and opportunity for such a 
fole, — and who would fain have filled it, — generally 
resulted, in the main, from the fact that they lacked 
a sufficiency of the foundational quality for fulfilling 
that role — that is, a sympathetic nature ; or that 
they did not recognize the necessity for exercising it. 
With this must be united the gifts of intuition and 
amiability. The worth of simple amiability is, in 
fact, greatly undervalued, not alone by the great 
majority of men, but by many women. It is natural 

186 



"fcer Salon 

that men engaged in the rivalries and warfares of 
exchange and trade, and in the liberal professions 
should forget the Golden Rule and the smaller amen- 
ities of domestic life. They forget that these form 
the nightly balm which heals the wounds received 
through the day, and supply the tonic necessary for 
the next day's battle of life. Their wives, sisters, 
and daughters are apt not only to take their cue from 
their utteVances on the subject, but to develop and 
foster similar sentiments in themselves through their 
own social rivalries with women of their own set, or 
more likely of those in the one immediately above it. 
They do so at the cost of losing the quality which lies 
at the bottom of the permanent success of a salon. 

The possession of this quality in an eminent degree 
was the secret of Mrs. Botta's success in social life. 
Indeed, it would be difficult to find a lady so quietly 
sympathetic as was our friend. She carried this all- 
pervading sympathy far outside her salon; she was 
constantly engaged in acts of beneficence, and at 
times she quite wore herself out in the performance 
of such duties. If space and leisure were equal to it, 
I could easily produce many facts in evidence of her 
broad sympathy, from her correspondence with my- 
self. I can remember her enlisting my small assis- 
tance in a scheme of her own for raising funds for 
the Sanitary Commission during our civil war. She 
made up a superb album filled with lovely little 
sketches done in oils and some in water-colors from 
the hands of many eminent artists, and then wid- 
ened the scope of this conception for the benefit of 

187 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

sufferers in the Franco-German war. I remember 
helping her to dispose of some cameos in behalf of 
a lady friend who was an artist in Italy. I also re- 
call to my memory long letters from her giving in 
careful detail every point in favor of some native or 
foreign protege for whom she was seeking a po- 
sition as tutor, as governess, as traveling-compan- 
ion, as draftsman, or as reporter. This sympathy, 
however, which was the well-spring of all her actions, 
did not interfere with her decisiveness and self-asser- 
tion when occasion demanded. 1 could relate several 
interesting episodes connected with this independence 
of her character. 

Having spoken of Mrs. Botta as the beneficent 
genius of a salon, 1 shall leave to other friends the 
office of describing her achievements in literature. 
The beauty of her poetry is well known, and her 
"Handbook of Universal Literature " — a miiltum in 
parvo of modest guise — is of the highest rank for 
educational purposes. Nor shall I dwell on her highly 
creditable work in sculpture. One or two pieces of 
her handiwork were to be seen in her beautiful 
drawing-rooms ; but a further insight into her art 
theories was enjoyed by those who were occasion- 
ally privileged to enter her studio and talk with her 
an hour or two, as she sat on a high stool with her 
linen blouse on — the clay in one hand and the spatula 
in the other — before the bust which she was making. 

My last conversation with Mrs. Botta would remain 
apart in my memory, even if it had not proved to 
be the last. It referred to a meeting of The Nineteenth 



■fccr Salon 

Century Club, at which we both were present ; and 
after the speakers had finished, we had some conver- 
sation on their themes ; she asked me to call on her 
and we would continue our observations. I went a 
few nights after. No one else was there, and we soon 
left the stated subject to talk about the people — so 
many of them shining lights in the various fields of 
activity — whom in olden times I had met as her 
guests, and of whom so many had gone to join the 
silent majority. This gave her occasion to state her 
frame of mind with reference to her own end, which 
she described as one altogether outside of emotion. 
She said "she neither desired to go nor to stay," 
realizing with seemingly entire apathy that her des- 
tiny in the future, as it had been in the past, was 
something with which her volition had nothing to do. 
Other remarks on this occasion reminded me that 
once before she told me that whatever success she 
had had in life she attributed to her early recognition 
of her own limitations, — a remark which recalled to 
my mind a saying of the late Professor Bache, who 
was a grandson of Benjamin Franklin, and for many 
years Chief of the Coast Survey, also the first president 
of the American Academy of Science. In discussing 
a certain case which came under our purview as 
officers of the Sanitary Commission, he remarked 
that he had long before made up his mind that the 
chief cause of unhappiness in this country, and of its 
insane asylums being so much more populous than 
those of most other countries, was the non-recognition 
among Americans of the limitations of the individual: 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

a lesson hard to learn in a community where uni- 
versal suffrage prevails, and where one is brought up 
to believe that one man is as good as another. 

In our conversation reference was made to the 
conflict between labor and capital — the rich and the 
poor, the well-born and the low-born, the educated 
and the ignorant. She thought that this conflict 
must come, and, indeed, was not very far off. She 
did not expect to live long enough to see the final 
clash. "But," she said, "when it comes it will 
much surpass alike in extent and bitterness the 
records of the French Revolution and the Commune, 
or of any previous outburst of class feeling in any age 
or country." She evidently thought with Ouida that 
" the masses " — to use Mr. Gladstone's terminology 
— will never forgive "the classes" for being born 
to, or for having conquered, the powers, pomps, and 
pleasures of this world. 

Our conversation then fell on the relative merits of 
contemporary poetry. We talked of Bryant's " Flood 
of Years " ; of some of Matthew Arnold's perfect but 
saddening verses ; some of Tennyson's recent poems ; 
and I reminded her that it was by her advice 1 read 
Sir Edwin Arnold's " Light of Asia" when it came 
out — a poem which gave her great delight. Her gen- 
eral view of poetry so far as 1 can judge from her 
allusions to it, was that the various elements of 
measured and rhythmical diction should be combined 
only in support of humanitarian principles. 

It is with these associations that the memory of 
Mrs. Botta will always remain with me, — but, alas ! 

IQO 



1bec Salon 

accompanied with saddened thoughts when in my 
mind's eye I see a few (the funeral being private) of 
the many friends, who had so often held high con- 
verse in those well-known drawing-rooms, gathered 
to pay their last tribute of respect and affection to the 
quiet form on whose marble lips the smile of welcome 
would never more be seen. After a short service in 
accordance with the Unitarian rites, her remains were 
taken to Woodlawn Cemetery, where, after the burial 
of this noble woman, her sorrowing husband and a 
venerable friend of many years stooped down and 
both placed a bunch of violets on the newly made 
grave. Standing there, thinking over her life, I re- 
called those fine lines of Wordsworth's, on the 
"woman nobly planned to warn, to comfort, and 
command"; and I could not but think that under 
those blossoms lay one whose exemplary and fragrant 
memory should be carried far beyond her immediate 
environment, her day and her generation. 



19! 




Ibcr perennial )3ontb 

By a Friend, New-York. 

DOMETHING of the wondering regret that 
comes on the untimely taking-off of one too 
young to go moves those who knew Mrs. 
Botta best. She was so young in her sympathies, 
her interest in all things new and worthy was so 
unfailing, that one never counted up her years, and 
might be excused for thinking her immortal. There 
was about her that air of buoyancy and vigor that 
belongs to youth ; and as she walked down the 
street before you, the slight figure, almost girlish in 
its erect poise, and the springing step flatly contra- 
dicted the story of the soft white hair and the dates in 
the cyclopedias. There was youth in the half-laugh- 
ing eye, too, and in the dimples that heightened that 
ever-ready, kindly smile of hers. 

It was difficult, then, to realize that this little lady's 
memories stretched back to the childhood of literary 
New-York ; that she knew Poe well in his days of 
struggle ; that Fanny Osgood and Griswold and Wil- 
lis frequented her drawing-room, as have all the men 

192 



1ber perennial foutb 

and women of letters who succeeded them ; and that 
Henry Clay was another friend of her youth. It was 
at her house, it is said, that Poe, some weeks before 
its publication, first recited "The Raven." Of the 
Anne C. Lynch of that period, it is remembered that 
she had a graceful little figure, an abundance of fine 
brown hair, a fuce winsome and lovely in expres- 
sion, — though not regularly beautiful, — handsome 
eyes, and a delicately pretty complexion. Then, as 
later, she had the art to make those about her happy ; 
and happiest of all she made her mother, who was 
always with her, and who lived under her care to a 
great age. It is pleasant to remember that, if her 
early youth had in it much unselfish toil for others, 
her after life was brightened by many good gifts of 
fortune — not the least of which was an ideally 
happy marriage. 

Now and then in later years, when with those 
she knew best, she would recall some noted figure, 
some grave or merry happening of those early days ; 
but no entreaties could persuade her to put her remi- 
niscences on paper. No one could have sketched so 
vividly the writers of the first half of the century; 
for, though there were enmities many among them, 
all were agreed in their friendly regard for the sweet, 
bright, and sympathetic young woman whose home 
was neutral ground. But there was much that was 
grotesque and unlovely in their quarrels ; and doubt- 
less Mrs. Botta felt that if she were not to send 
forth half-told and therefore valueless recollections, 
she would be constrained to perpetuate memories 
"3 193 



Bnnc C. X. JBotta 

of suffering, envy, and'unkindness among those early 
friends. To her gentle heart nothing could have 
seemed more cruel. It will always be remembered 
of her that none ever heard from her lips a word of 
carping criticism. If she could not speak well and 
pleasantly of people, she spoke of them not at all. 
Not that she was blind to what moved to laughter 
or to cynicism ; a glint of humor in her bright eyes 
showed that she saw, if she forbore to comment. 

Mrs. Botta's tact and ease as a hostess were per- 
fect ; no one was ever dull or bored in her com- 
fortable house. She knew how to blend, without 
apparent effort, the most diverse social elements; 
and the light-hearted gaiety, simplicity, and frank- 
ness of her welcome called forth all that was best 
and brightest in her guests. There are probably no 
Americans of note as writers and artists who have 
not trodden her broad stairway, and no distinguished 
foreign traveler in this country has failed to taste her 
hospitality. Of these visitors in late years perhaps 
the most interesting was Matthew Arnold — who 
was his pleasantest self under that pleasant roof- 
tree. Never was hostess more thoughtful of the 
comfort and pleasure of those about her; and in 
talk, whether wise or witty, she was always appre- 
ciative and responsive. She was a good friend albeit 
she was not wont to wear her heart upon her sleeve. 
No one ever heard from Mrs. Botta's lips a word, 
which might be called "gushing," but many a one 
will treasure utterances therefrom of the gentlest 
kindness. 

• 94 




1Imprc00!on0 

By Professor L. J. B. Lincoln, New- York. 

}0 high a privilege is rarely accorded as is this 
opportunity to crystallize into words a deep 
and heart-born impression. The sweet and 
gracious woman whose silence is so eloquent; the 
kindly neighbor in a city where neighborhood is but 
faintly existent ; the sincere and gentle adviser ; the 
mature and ripened thinker ; the sensitive poet-na- 
ture, weaving its own garlands and its own chaplet ; 
the generous liver in the sense of living generously 
toward other lives ; the merry humorist, whose sat- 
ire was too delicate to leave a sting, and whose con- 
versation sparkled with healthy wit, — all these and 
many more were side-lights in forming this im- 
pression of her daily life. 

Coming to know her only within her last years, 
this impression, produced in our first talk together, 
has simply broadened and deepened, never changed. 
She gave herself, with all the rich argosy of her 
honored years, I sincerely believe, to any one upon 
whom her attention even rested ; and in this lay, 
perhaps, her remarkably responsive and intelligent 

<9'> 



anne C. %. JBotta 

sympathy. It would be idle for her best and nearest 
friend to claim any personal and individual prefer- 
ment as shown by her. Generosity, with her, seemed 
but the outward expression of her inmost soul-life ; 
and who so audacious as to assert preemption there! 
Nor do I think that it ever occurred to her that there 
was this generosity on her part. It came like the 
sweet breath of a child, — so natural was it, so utterly 
devoid of consciousness. Yet greater measure surely 
never came in our day, for it still lingers about her 
memory, and still holds us in its gentle grasp. 

To art, to literature, to society, to any form of in- 
tellectual experiment, to any effort, failing and impo- 
tent howsoever it might be, toward the higher life, 
her inner chords of helpful sympathy responded with 
electric instantaneousness. Relying upon her own 
exquisite intuition rather than upon her experience, 
she piloted many a little shallop of ideal hopes and 
fears through the maelstrom of contending interests 
and social philistinism. In nothing was her generos- 
ity so unique and so courageous as in this. Where 
other would-be friends waited for the favoring breeze 
before launching an idea, she fanned its sails with 
her own enthusiasm and guided it to success. 

Mrs. Botta, while thoroughly interested in every 
progressive movement, was rarely carried away from 
the serene and peaceful current of her own contem- 
plative and comprehensive thoughts upon the philos- 
ophy of history and the evolution of mankind. Her 
literary monuments in themselves so eloquently por- 
tray the breadth and universality of her views that 
appreciation loses its choicest opportunity. Those 

196 



IFmpceseions 

of her friends who knew that until her very last hours 
she intended to assume the colossal task of taking 
up history and bringing the story of every nation 
of antiquity down to the present time, marveled at 
the exceeding mental grasp which dared to essay so 
enormous an effort late in life. That her theory — 
the strength of the historical lesson to be drawn 
from the study of nations after their fall — was force- 
ful and interesting, must be apparent to any one 
whose reading lies in that direction. It is with the 
deepest regret that we realize that her mind, which 
had shown its ability to execute large ideas in her 
*' Handbook of Universal Literature," conceived this 
nobler thought too late in her physical life to carry 
it to its fulfilment. 

Of Mrs. Botta's poetical gifts, other and more able 
judges have spoken. In those rare moments when 
she could be induced to repeat some of her verses, 
her personality became indistinct compared with the 
spirit which her own muse evoked from herself. 
Delicate, fanciful, evanescent yet winning, it thrilled 
the tenderest emotions and dignified them as it 
thrilled. Deep and true and human are those sonnets ; 
full, too, of the soaring and aspiring feeling which 
banishes depression. After all, they are her best eu- 
logium : her own soul, speaking through her own 
heart, warm with her own life, and glorified with her 
own immortality. And perhaps it is more eloquent 
than other words can ever be, that since she left us, 
these which were impressions have become convic- 
tions, and these convictions a lasting faith in the 
eternal life of true generosity. 
13* 197 




a Mor^ about Ibcr poems 

By Richard Watson Gilder, New- York. 



My dear Mr. Botta : 

AM greatly obliged to you for the copy of 
Mrs. Botta's poems. They strongly bring 
to mind their author's modest, gentle, gen- 
erous, and poetic personality. I cannot speak criti- 
cally and coldly of the records of the mind of an 
honored friend. The feeling in the poems is not 
assumed ; nor is the expression forced or in any way 
affected. I like best the sonnets ; they have the 
charms of sincerity, thoughtfulness, and a dignified 
and poetic diction. They are indeed true reflections 
of the soul of a spiritual-minded and noble woman. 
The sonnet " Longing" is, for its significance and 
dignity, well placed at the beginning of the book of her 
poems. In this the "troubled sea, that longest ever- 
more to rise to the bright orb," is thus addressed: 

Type of the soul art thou, she strives hke thee, 
By time and circumstance and law bound down, 
She beats against the shores of the unknown, 

Wrestles with unseen force, doubt, mystery, 
And longs forever for the goal afar 
That shines and still retreats, like a receding star. 
198 



m 




1bcv poetical Cbaracter 

By Edith M. Thomas, New-York. 



)ITTING in the study of that hospitable man- 
sion which Helen Hunt Jackson so fittingly 
describes in a sonnet to A. C. L. B./ the 
conversation between the gracious presiding spirit 
of the house and a guest, as yet a novice in her art, 
turned upon the subject of poetry. Some ultimate 
definition of this most indefinable and escaping 
element was sought. The dicta of the great masters, 
both in the theory and creation of the noblest verse, 
were cited through a wide range of authorities, from 
the well-known pronunciamento of Milton to our 
own Lowell's counsel obliquely hinted in the lines : 

Put all your beauty in your rhymes, 
Your morals in your living. 

Much of this conversation, which was among the 
earliest of many bright hours since spent in that 
study, has passed from memory ; but 1 shall never 

1 For this sonnet see page 172. 
IQ9 



Bnnc C. %, asotta 

forget the glowing earnestness of her final words. 
'M do not think," said my hostess, " that the prov- 
ince of poetry is so much to idealize the real, as to 
help us to realize our ideals, and to make actual our 
highest spiritual conceptions." 

Now, this desire to " help us to realize our ideals " 
informs every line of the true-hearted verse left us by 
Mrs. Botta. Regarding this bequest, an expression 
made by the present writer more than ten years since 
recurs now with an emphasized force of belief on her 
part. 

" In these days of advanced estheticism, often 
with a sickly Erato as presiding muse, it is with a 
sense of relief and refreshment that we turn to the 
so-called old-fashioned school of poetry, more than 
ever disposed to set a high premium upon explicit 
motive, normal emotions, a sweet and sound moral- 
ity, and good ' common sense,' in verse as well as in 
other departments of literature. In the volume of 
poems by Anne C. L. Botta, we meet with no 
obscurity of treatment, no ethical ambiguity; all are 
characterized by a winning purity and serenity of 
feeling, and by a lucid grace of expression." 

Of her work she was wont to say in smiling dep- 
recation, "It may not be poetry — but it is my- 
self." In the fullest sense of the injunction she 
looked into her heart and wrote. And nowhere is the 
record of that heart's most warm, most vital and 
indomitable pulsations more clearly expressed than in 
her sonnets, from the first to the very last, which ap- 
peared in "The Century Magazine" shortly after her 



fbcv ipoetical Cbaractec 

going hence forever. This, with its significant title, 
I give in full : 

AB ASTRIS. 

I saw the stars swept through ethereal space, 

Stars, suns, and systems in infinity, — 

Our earth an atom in the shoreless sea. 

Where each had its appointed path and place : 

And I was lost in my own nothingness. 

But then 1 said. Dost thou not know that He 

Who guides these orbs through trackless space guides thee? 

No longer groveling thus, thyself abase. 
For in this vast, harmonious, perfect whole, 
In infinite progression moving on. 
Thou hast thy place, immortal human soul. 
Thy place and part not less than star and sun ; 
Then with this grand procession fall in line. 
This rhythmic march led on by power divine. 



This poem suggested the following lines : 



AD ASTRA. 

Unto the stars the light they lent returned ! 
Seer of celestial order, soother, guide, 
Be still such influence, though undiscerned. 
Swept onward with the white sidereal tide. 



For those who knew her best, the resonant chord 
of her strong, purposeful, ardent, and sympathetic 
being still vibrates in such poems as "Aspiration," 
" Accordance," " Endurance," " Charity." She was 



anne C. %, 3Botta 

indeed one with the figure of the musician, intro- 
duced into these lines : 

ACCORDANCE. 

He who with bold and skilful hand sweeps o'er 

The organ-keys of some cathedral pile, 

Flooding with music, vault, and nave, and aisle, 

Though on his ear falls but a thunderous roar. 

In the composer's lofty motive free, 

Knows well that all that temple, vast and dim, 

Thrills to its base with anthem, psalm, and hymn, 

True to the changeless laws of harmony. 

So he who on these clanging chords of life. 

With firm, sweet touch plays the Great Master's score, 

Of truth, and love, and duty, evermore. 

Knows, too, that far beyond this roar and strife, 

Though he may never hear, in the true time, 

These notes must all accord in symphonies sublime. 

To those who enjoyed the privilege of intimate 
association, she seems to have been the living em- 
bodiment of the virtues celebrated under the titles 
1 have cited from her poems, — but "Greatest in the 
greatest of all, Charity." She has been the almoner 
and bestower of every noble gift of encouragement, 
both material and spiritual, to many whose previous 
road was hemmed in by obstacles. Many a tyro in 
letters, many a struggler in art, cannot forget whence 
first was reached out the helping hand, whence 
came the first note of approval, of timely cheer, of 
generous praise, and — most rare of all — of unselfish 
criticism ; for most difficult is the part of judicious 
censor ! The mention of gratitude for a benefit con- 



t>cv ipoetlcal Cbaractcc 

ferred by herself brought the whimsical remonstrance, 
almost sublimely naive : "I deserve no credit ; I only 
did what I liked to do." 

"Greatest in the greatest of- all, Charity," I have 
said, but I should add, "Greatest in the most refined 
exercise of that divine faculty " ; for, were there any 
in whom she had invested her beautiful faith who 
afterward proved undeserving of the bestowal, her 
almost invariable summation of the case was: "It 
was not their fault, but mine, if they failed to reach 
my ideal ; 1 expected too much." But whatever dis- 
appointment of this sort was encountered, her happy 
hope in the individual, as in humanity at large, was 
perennial and unfailing. 

But thy heart's affluence lavish uncontrolled, 
The largess of thy love give full and free, 
As monarchs in their progress scatter gold. 

These words were the watchword of her from 
whose spirit they breathed in daily life, — creating in 
those around her a like liberal and loving faith in 
humankind. 

Like Arnold's scholar, Gypsey, she was invincible 
to despair, and held to the soul's quest with an in- 
trepid confidence as to its fruition. 

Thou waitest for the spark from Heaven! and we, 
Light, half-believers of our casual creeds, 

Who hesitate and falter life away, 
And lose to-morrow the ground won to-day, 
Ah ! do not we, wanderer ! await it too ? 
203 



Bnne C. %. 36otta 

It would be but an incomplete enumeration of the 
qualities that met in this beloved person were no 
mention made of her large and genial sense of humor 
and of her abiding young power of participation in 
mirth. The quick and felicitous touch, both stimu- 
lating and contributing repartee, was as characteris- 
tic of her as were the earnestness and seriousness 
which the grave occasion, the philosophic considera- 
tion, evoked. As an instance of this humor the fol- 
lowing poem addressed to the writer by Mrs. Botta 
from her city home in summer, may be quoted : 

A SUMMER IDYL. 

The city is dreary and dusty and lone, 

The Smiths and the Joneses and Jenkinses gone ; 

The doors are all barred, and the shutters all down, 

And nobody left in this desolate town — 

Save the sweeper who wearily loiters and lags, 

The ashman, and he who cries " Bottles and rags!" 

And a hurrying crowd one knows nothing about. 

Though each one of them somebody cares for, no doubt ; 

The streets everywhere are plowed into a rut, 

For putting down pipes that never stay put. 

Gazing up from my window above may be scanned 

A strip of the sky as wide as my hand ; 

And then, looking earthward, may dimly be seen 

At least a square yard once of emerald green ; 

But now from the heat and sewer-gas, behold ! 

It has taken the favorite hue of old gold. 

Then the odors, — not Milton's Sabean, I own, 

Nor yet those that Coleridge found at Cologne, 

But here to our trained, tried olfactories known, 

As the Hunter's Point perfume — from boiling old bone. 

You boast of your singing birds lodged in the trees, 

Of the dash of the waves, the sigh of the breeze, 

204 



fbct ipoetical Cbaractec 

The lowing of herds, the hum of the bees — 

Sweet voices of Nature, — but what are all these 

To our lively mosquitos' appeal to the senses, 

The wail of the cats as they stray o'er the fences ; 

Till a friend at my side, in a rage going on, 

Makes use of "cuss words" and calls for his gun. 

And here comes the organ that stops at our door, 

To grind out its music that makes, with the roar 

Of the wagons and carts as they rumble and jolt 

O'er the roughly paved streets, a prolonged thunderbolt ; 

And every two minutes the up-in-air train 

Goes whirring along like a demon insane; 

Till all thought is dispersed, like a mist in the air. 

And silence is golden, we meekly declare. 

Then the heat that no thoughts of the blizzard assuage. 

When Phoebus and Fahrenheit start a rampage ; 

And when "General Humidity" joins in the tilt, 

Like plucked flowers of the field the poor mortal must 

wilt, 
Till he cries, like the wit, in disconsolate tones. 
To take off his flesh and sit in his bones. 
But, however, to sum up and make myself clear, 
For July and August I would not be here ; 
But give me New-York for nine months of the year, — 
With all its shortcomings there 's no place so dear; 
With its life and its rush, what it does and has done. 
There is no city like it under the sun. 

Reverenced as a leader in all movements to confer 
benefit upon her fellow-creatures ; appealed to for 
her equity of spirit and the soundness of her judicial 
faculty ; beloved, as the woman ; happy in the home 
whose hospitalities have made many happy; sus- 
tained by the affectionate cooperation and approval 
of him whose complemental qualities of mind and 
soul were ever her delight, — hers was the well- 

205 



2lnnc C. %, JBotta 

rounded life, attaining the fullness of years without 
the decadence of hope or of the impulse of her prime. 
Her going forth was as she would have wished it 
to be, as expressed in the memorable lines of an elder 
spirit to whom she was kindred in nobility and 
power : 

Then steal away, give little warning. 
Choose thine own time; 

Say not good night, but in some brighter clime 
Bid me good morning. 

It was not many weeks previous to her bidding 
good morning in some brighter clime, that she con- 
fided in me what perhaps was but a momentary 
impulse of the mind (we were speaking of leave- 
taking and of the Nunc Dimittis). "If any words 
were to be inscribed above me," she said, " 1 would 
like these," and she read from that copy of "The 
Light of Asia" which was the most companionable 
among her books : 

The Dew is on the lotus — rise, Great Sun ! 
And lift my leaf, and mix me with the wave. 
Om mani padme h6m,i the Sunrise comes! 
The Dewdrop slips into the shining sea! 

Yet though blent with the Universal (if such be 
the Universal) Law, so strong is the sense of her 
dear identity that her memory lives among us more 
vividly real than many a presence still clothed in 
mortal garb. 

1 For translation see page 127. 
206 




Iber artistic Cbaractcr 

By F. Edwin Elwell, New-York. 



jN the first days after my return to New-York 
city, when the studies abroad had come to 
an end, and the real practical effort was to be 
made, — that effort so wearying both to body and soul 
at the beginning of an artist's career, — it was my lot 
to attempt to create the beautiful in art in the then 
rather false atmosphere of the artistic life here ; in 
those first days, I became acquainted with this won- 
derful woman, Mrs. Botta. 

I do not remember when first it was, or how it 
came about, — 1 only know that her sphere was one I 
had always loved in woman: her thought was pure 
and high, and in her soul burned the unquenchable 
fire of artistic genius ; and had that flame been guided 
into the great flowing river of modern thought and 
feeling earlier in life, she would have left more public 
proofs of her great power in this direction. 

But to us who knew her, there was little need of 
productions in marble or bronze to lead us to appre- 
ciate her artistic side. We had learned and felt 

207 



Bnnc C. %, JBotta 

deeply that the great mind was one with us in every 
throbbing emotion of our inner-soul feeling, for the 
art that lifts men out of the common on to that 
plane of ideality which is poetry, music, and all 
the arts combined. 

Her love for art was an inward passion of the nobler 
kind. She saw in sculpture what would best express 
her inmost feelings ; and when the time came that she 
could work in a studio, where there was perfect 
freedom and an absence of any small ideal of art, she 
covered in three weeks the same rational ground that 
another would have been years in accomplishing. 

She loved truth, — truth in its highest sense and 
grandest simplicity. When she saw how great a 
truth the law of mass of form in art really was, she 
became so radiant and happy that she remarked to a 
friend, "1 am in love again." It was the sublime 
simplicity of the truth that attracted her. It was 
seeing and loving the great simple facts in life that 
made her great, and her salon the center of the 
literary world of America. It was in her sphere 
that simple grand truth could thrive and gather to 
itself strength to go out from under her roof to be 
felt all over the country. 

Indeed, few can measure her wonderful faculty of 
seeing the real in men and things: always lending 
a helping hand to any one who was sincere and 
aspiring, and most tenderly discarding those of mean 
ambition. 

There was in her presence an uplifting force, a 
strength of soul, a lovely spiritual sphere. 1 have 

208 



fbcv Brtisttc Cbaracter 

often gone in a mood to her house, and have come 
away filled with the holy light of higher truth. I 
have listened to her splendid verse, simply rendered, 
and I have watched that face full of tenderness and 
powerful thought, and have wondered what one saw 
most — this woman as a human being, or Mrs. 
Botta's spiritual self. One grew so used to this 
higher self of hers that the natural parting was but a 
momentary affliction to many of us, for soon there 
came into the life again the splendid song of her soul- 
light and truth. 

It is rare enough that one finds in so gifted a lite- 
rary woman as strong a genius for sculpture. Several 
of Mrs. Botta's busts are masculine in their touch, 
and have a poetical quality that if they had been 
fortunate enough to have been rendered in the tech- 
nique of the modern French school, they would stand 
well with any of the modern works of the sculptors 
of to-day. I speak of the busts of Mr. Botta and 
Mr. Butler. 

The fact that just before Mrs. Botta left us she was 
taking up the rational truths and philosophy of the 
French school, proves beyond a doubt that her nature 
was of exceptional breadth ; and there can be little 
doubt that in a few years she would have mastered 
the technique enough to have given us worthy work, 
in which she would have expressed more clearly 
what her inner soul felt. 

There are few women in modern society who have 
that quality so distinctly hers, — of inspiring one to 
resist the desire to succeed at once through the kind 
14 209 



annc C. X. 3Botta 

favor of over-zealous friends. Her counsel was digni- 
fied ; she used to say, " It is better to succeed by one's 
work, and leave behind that real position that time 
cannot efface." 

The effect of her good artistic advice and tender 
kindness will never be forgotten by John Ruhl, a 
youth of the city, who found his way out into the 
light through the wise assistance of Mrs. Botta and a 
friend. In this boy's soul burns always the sacred 
fire of love and veneration for the noble woman who 
did so much to lift others out into the light and on 
into the paths that lead to worldly fame. There is 
little need of sculptured monument to mark her 
departure from these our natural surroundings ; for 
in the soul of all those who came near enough to her 
to feel her sublime nature, there exists now and for- 
evermore a splendid, imperishable monument of pure 
affection. 



En album anb tbe jfrencb Hcabem^ 

By the Hon. John Bigelow, New-York. 



f^^j^HE career of the late Mrs. Botta was remarkable 
in many respects ; edifying and instructive in 
all. While yet but three years old the death 
of her father left her and her widowed mother de- 
pendent largely upon their own resources. With an 
excellent constitution, a good education, and a just 
appreciation of her talents, she decided to seek for 
them a wider sphere of activity than was offered in 
her quiet New England home, and, with her mother, 
she resolved to seek such a sphere in our great com- 
mercial metropolis. It was a bold, almost an au- 
dacious experiment; but young as she was, she had 
already measured her forces with some of the favorites 
of fortune, and the results gave her faith and courage. 
She had tried her prentice hand in the magazines, 
and some of her verses had been stamped with the 
approbatiir of Bryant and Willis, at that time the 
aristarchy of American letters. 

My acquaintance with Mrs. Botta commenced very 
soon after she took up her residence in New-York. 



Bnnc C. X. :©otta 

The scheme of life which, whether by instinct or de- 
hberation, she seems thus early to have marked out 
for herself, was to make herself useful in some way to 
every one with whom she was brought into relation- 
ship. This radiance of usefulness, which helped to 
make her so singularly and uniformly agreeable, 
shone around her through life. Fortune, which is 
said to always favor the brave, smiled upon her. Her 
house soon became the favorite resort of the literary 
and artistic classes of our city, including not only 
those who had won their laurel crowns, but more 
especially the younger aspirants of both sexes, who 
were in the planting rather than in the harvesting 
season of their careers, and who nowhere else had 
such an advantageous opportunity of becoming ac- 
quainted and listening to the golden words of the 
masters. Many of those who in their turn have since 
risen to eminence, cherished through life a grateful 
affection for Mrs. Botta. through whose thoughtful 
attentions they thus received countenance and en- 
couragement at this critical period of their lives. Her 
efforts to make herself useful to the world, as the 
surest and wisest method of making the world useful 
to her. flavored everything she did and said, and much 
of what she avoided doing and saying : surrounded 
her with devoted friends ; made her not only a favorite, 
but ultimately a patroness, in our best society; caused 
her name to be one of the first to be sought in fur- 
therance of any charitable, literary, or social move- 
ment ; even disarmed criticism, and sent envy and 
jealousy away, empty and ashamed. This singleness 



Bn Blbum and tbc ffrcncb HcaJJcmg 

of purpose to be of use to somebody in some way, 
was not with Mrs. Bottaapenal servitude; it was not 
prosecuted reluctantly from a sense of religious duty 
— it was her pleasure, it gave her more satisfaction 
than she could get in any other way ; it involved no 
sacrifices which she did not cheerfully make. It is 
not strange, therefore, that she always took the live- 
liest interest in whatever promised any amelioration 
in the material condition or the intellectual and spiri- 
tual elevation of her own sex. These were subjects 
upon which she frequently exercised her pen, and to 
which in other days she consecrated not a little of 
her time and best energies. 

In one of her noblest schemes in behalf of woman- 
hood, I chanced to be received into her confidence. 
During the War of the Rebellion she of course took 
an active interest in all the measures set on foot 
for the relief of the wounded soldiers. Among other 
devices for procuring the means for this charity, Mrs. 
Botta made a collection of autographs in 1864, which 
was sold and the proceeds applied to the uses of the 
Sanitary Commission. The gratifying success of this 
device prompted her to repeat it in 1870 for the 
benefit of the bereft families of the French soldiers 
wounded in the Franco-German war. Her efforts 
were rewarded with extraordinary success. No one 
made aware of her purpose could hesitate to oblige 
her. The result was a collection of more than a 
thousand autographs and photographs of the more 
eminent citizens of this country and Europe, and 
also of some hundred sketches by artists in Rome. 

M* 213 



anne C. X. JBotta 

The album, when completed, was purchased by Mr. 
Henry W. Sage, of Ithaca, New-York, the founder 
of Sage College for the Education of Women, estab- 
lished in connection with Cornell University, for a sum 
which, after deducting the outlay, netted four thousand 
dollars. Meanwhile the war, happily, had terminated, 
and it became necessary to apply the proceeds of her 
benevolent endeavors to a different purpose from the 
one which had originally inspired it. Deliberating 
upon a number of different plans, she finally decided 
upon one which for a variety of reasons she thought 
would be more directly and at the same time more 
permanently effective of her purpose than any of the 
others. She offered the fund to the French Academy 
on condition that the interest should be given in prizes 
at appropriate intervals, for the best essays from 
any quarter of the world on the following theme : 
" Woman ; in what way can her domestic, political, 
and social relations be modified in the interest of a 
higher civilization?" 

In selecting the French Academy as her almoner 
for the distribution of this prize-money, she felt that 
she was committing it to perhaps the most august 
literary tribunal among nations, and one more likely 
than any other to attract eminent talent to the serious 
consideration of woman's proper place in the world. 
It also gave as great a promise of longevity as any 
other institution which could be expected to charge 
itself with such a duty, and whatever might be issued 
under its auspices was certain to receive and to merit 
the attention of the nations. It was a bold and noble 

214 



an album auD tbe ffrencb acaOemg 

conception, and if it has not yet borne all the fruit 
expected of it, it has been in no sense the fault of its 
large-minded proponent. 

Monsieur Henri Moreau, a member of the French 
bar, and associated in business with M. Berryer during 
the later years of that distinguished barrister's pro- 
fessional career, kindly undertook to submit Mrs, 
Botta's proposal to the Academy, which he formally 
did through its "perpetual secretary" on the 4th of 
January, 1875. ■^t the next meeting of the Acad- 
emy, on the 7th of January, 1875, her proffer was 
formally accepted, the Academy accompanying its ac- 
ceptance, however, with a requestforherpermission — 
which was conceded — to reserve to themselves the 
right to enlarge the scope of her theme by substituting 
for it "The Condition of Women." M. Patin's letter 
accepting the fund in the name of the Academy, and its 
motives for modifying the form and to some extent 
the import of the theme suggested by Mrs. Botta, ran 
as follows : 

Institut de France, Academie Fran^aise, 
Paris, January 14th, 1875. 

The Perpetual Secretary of the Academy to M. Moreau, advocate. 

Sir: I communicated to the Academy at its last session, the 7th 
of this month, the letter which Madame Botta has been pleased 
to address to me and which you took the trouble to transmit to 
me on her behalf. 

The Academy has naturally been much touched by the senti- 
ments of esteem for itself as of sympathy for France testified in 
this letter and which have inspired the generous offer of Madame 
Botta. 

215 



Bnnc C. X. JBotta 

Such an offer it could not hesitate to accept, which it hastens to 
do, with a single reservation which the maintenance of its usages, 
and its freedom of action, impose. It would prefer not to be re- 
stricted in accomplishing the intentions of Madame Botta by a 
too absolute programme, and not to engage itself to crown every 
five years any but the best of the works that may be addressed to 
it on the " Condition of Women." 

Will you, sir, be our interpreter to Madame Botta, and charge 
yourself with the transmission to her of the homage of our senti- 
ments of gratitude and respect, and accept for yourself the assur- 
ance of our distinguished consideration. 

Patin. 

This letter shows how conservative the French 
Academy remains in regard to all literary or social 
movements which may come under its considera- 
tion, and Mrs. Botta was naturally somewhat sur- 
prised and disappointed by the change in the point of 
view from which the rights and interests of her sex 
were to be investigated under the Academy's auspices ; 
but, taking it for granted that the gentlemen of that 
august body had satisfactory reasons for enlarging the 
scope of the inquiry for which the prize was to be 
given, she assented to their conditions. 

At the session of the Academy on the 4th of 
August, 1881. the then perpetual secretary. M. Ca- 
mille Doucet, announced that a competitor entitled 
to only a part of the prize had appeared, and that 
it would be competed for again two years later. 
The history and explanation of the action of the 
Academy is thus given in M. Doucet's report of the 
proceedings of the session. We here get a more 
definite — not to say amusing — view of the motives 

2 16 



Bu Blbum anD tbe 3fcencb BcaDems 

of the Academy for modifying the theme proposed 
by Mrs. Botta: 

A portion of the prize of five thousnnd francs due to tlie gen- 
erosity of Madame Botta will to-day receive an appropriate and 
honorable disposition, but the prize itself, as well as the prize of 
poetry, will be submitted to another competition and awarded 
two years hence. 

On the 1 8th of December, 1874, Madame Botta wrote from 
New-York to the Academy proposing to place at its disposal a 
prize of five thousand francs to be given every five years for the 
best work published in France on the following subject: "How 
may the Domestic, Social, and Political Relations of Woman be 
Modified in the Interests of a Higher Civilization?" 

This formula, not flattering {asse{ irrcfpeiitwuse) to our modern 
civilization, was of a nature to somewhat scare a pacific com- 
pany, the friend of all progress but the enemy of all revolutions, 
especially of literary revolutions, and which is always ready to 
yield to its more competent brethren the honor, perilous for 
itself, of discussing political and social questions. 

Without altogether refusing its cooperation, nor the trouble 
which it is its habit never to begrudge to those who ask for it, the 
Academy on this occasion felt compelled to show some hesitation; 
but soon — its entire freedom of action being reserved — the prize 
founded by Madame Botta by common consent was formally 
pledged to the best work which should be submitted on the 
"Condition of Women." 

This prize we hoped for the first time to confer to-day. Only 
five competitors have responded to our appeal, and, had the sub- 
ject originally proposed by Madame Botta been adopted, a little 
book entitled "La Femme Libre" would certainly have been 
entitled to a preference, but the more it responded to the pro- 
gramme renounced by the Academy, the more it departed from 
that which prevailed, from that which is a law to us, and which 
we are bound to respect. 

In this volume, which realizes everything promised by its title, 
the author gives evidence of real talent, but he fails of his pur- 

217 



anne C. %, asotta 

pose from lack of measure and moderation. Instead of treating 
as a philosopiier and moralist questions of morals and philosophy, 
it is with passion that he agitates social questions which we care 
not to discuss with him. His intentions are good ; his methods 
dangerous. To ameliorate the condition of women, it is not 
necessary to begin by making men of them ; it is not necessary 
to deprive them of that first merit which will always be their 
charm, their honor, and their right, — the merit of being women. 

By its merits and by its defects this work is not one of the 
class which pass unnoticed. It has this advantage, and this dis- 
advantage. The prize could not be given it; but no one has 
received it. 

An important series of studies on the historic development of 
the condition of women in all countries and in all epochs had, 
however, attracted the attention of the Academy, which is mind- 
ful of having on two successive occasions (in 1864 and in 1872) 
encouraged their author. Mile. Clarisse Bader. 

Under the several titles of "La Femme dans I'Inde Antique," 
"La Femme Biblique," "La Femme Grecque," and "La Femme 
Romaine," Mile. Bader undertook some twenty years ago an 
immense work of special information which placed her within 
the terms of this coiicours before it existed. She will be so 
much the more within it as she shall approach the completion 
of her task, her encyclopedic task. She raised the question; 
she has studied, commented, elucidated it, but, as it is still lack- 
ing a formal conclusion, she has not yet resolved it. 

Desiring to honor persistent effort ; to recompense literary 
labors animated throughout by a moral purpose — to use the 
expression of M. Villemain in conferring the prize on "La Femme 
dans I'Inde Antique" ; wishing also to testify to the utmost its 
desire to respond without delay to the wishes of the donor, the 
Academy has appropriated from the Botta fund the sum of two 
thousand francs to Mile. Clarisse Bader, awaiting the completion 
of a work so full of promise. 

Two yearshence, gentlemen, 1 have said, — and I will repeat it, — 
this prize, which is now again submitted to competition by the 
Academy, — this prize of five thousand francs will be awarded 

218 



2ln Blbum anD tbe jfrcncb BcaDcmg 

to the best work which, before the ist of January, 1883, shall be 
presented on the "Condition of Women." 

Unhappily and curiously enough, the ** Condition 
of Women " had not proved an inspiration to French 
genius. Neither in the conconrs of 1883 nor of 1887 
did any competitors for this prize appear. The reason 
why is not obvious. There are very few even 
among the most eminent writers in France who can 
afford to make light of such an opportunity of earn- 
ing five thousand francs. Perhaps it was not gene- 
rally known that the Academy had such a prize to 
bestow; it may be that those who would have in- 
clined to discuss the theme knew or feared that the 
Academy would not allow them a sufficient latitude 
for its proper treatment from their point of view; 
and it maybe — though this view we hope is entitled 
to no respect — that the Academy did not think the 
"Condition of Women " admitted of any improve- 
ment. Whatever the reason, the learned assembly 
deemed it advisable to leave the gentler sex to their 
fate and to recommend the adoption of a more com- 
prehensive programme. This view was communi- 
cated to Mrs. Botta in the following letter from the 
perpetual secretary : 

Institut de France, Academie Fran^aise, 
Paris, 7th May, 1887. 

The Perpetual Secretary of the Academj> to Madame Botta. 

Madame : For the past twelve years it has been the duty of the 
Academy to respond to your confidence, and it has neglected 

219 



Bnnc C. %, JBotta 

nothing to insure to the prize so generously founded by you the 
destination indicated by you for it. 

Never, Madame, has this result been completely realized, and 
this year it has not received a single work which conformed to 
the prescribed conditions. 

Greatly regretting its inability to fulfil your intentions, it has 
charged me to explain to you the situation and to ask what it 
would be agreeable to you that it should do to secure a good use 
for the sum hitherto consecrated by you to the best work on the 
"Condition of Women." 

This subject, Madame, has not inspired a single author, and, 
after several renewals, it seems certain now that a like result will 
continue always to subject the Academy to the like embarrassment. 

Will you not then consider, Madame, whether it will not 
be agreeable to modify your too restricted or too arbitrary pro- 
gramme ? There are other orders of literary labor worthy of your 
interest and of your generosity which would better attain your 
end through the Academy, which has only good ends in view, 
if you would give it a larger latitude for the employment of the 
revenue from your foundation " in the interest of letters," as has 
already been done by our illustrious colleague, M. Vitet. I beg 
you, Madame, to accept my respectful homage. 

Camille Doucet. 

To this letter Mrs. Botta, upon due reflection, sent 
the following reply : 

New-York, 29th May, 1887. 
To Mr. Camille Doucet, etc. 

Sir: 1 regret to learn by your letter of May 7th that the prize 
offered by the Academy for the best book on the " Condition of 
Women" failed to awaken the interest that the subject seemed to 
have demanded. The object in founding this prize was not only 
to express the sympathy and admiration of a great nation, but 
also to encourage the production of such works as would tend to 
the elevation of women, who, it cannot be denied, form a very 
important element in the advancement of the human race and 

220 



nn Blbum anD tbe jfrencb BcaDcmfi 

in the development of civilization. Since this object seems to 
have failed, I cheerfully accept the suggestion of the illustrious 
gentlemen who constitute the Academy, communicated to me in 
your letter, and request that the fund be appropriated to such ob- 
jects and in such a manner as they may think best. Should any 
form be necessary in order to utilize this change, my husband and 
myself will be in Paris some time during the summer, when it can 
be satisfactorily arranged. With great regard, etc., 

A. C. L. BOTTA. 



To this Mrs. Botta received the following answer: 

Institut de France, Academie Fran^aise, 
Paris, 17th June, 1887. 

The' Perpetual Secretary of the Academj' to Madame Botta. 

Madame: I have received the letter you did me the honor to 
write me, and I lost no time in communicating it to the Academy 
at its session yesterday. 

The gracious manner in which you have received the proposi- 
tion which I had occasion to submit to you has been highly 
appreciated by the company, and 1 am charged to thank you on 
its behalf. 

Believe me, Madame, that before asking you to modify your 
first intentions it was necessary that the impossibility of satisfying 
them should be absolutely demonstrated, so earnestly does the 
Academy always desire to comform to the wishes of the generous 
persons who honor it with their confidence. 

Feeling fully authorized by your last letter, the Academy 
yesterday made the following disposition of your prize, with 
which I hasten to acquaint you : 

"In future the Botta prize shall be bestowed every three years. 
It shall be 3000 francs, and the Academy, inspired by the testa- 
mentary dispositions of M. Vitet, will apply this sum in the way 
it shall deem best 'in the interest of letters.' For the next year, 
and for that year only, the Botta prize will amount to 6000 francs 



Bnne C. %. iBotta 

in consequence of the unappropriated income wiiich will iiave 
accumulated at that time.i 

" This prize will thereafter alternate with the two triennial 
prizes of 3000 francs founded respectively by M. Thiers and by 
M. Guizot." 

You will see, Madame, that your prize, assimilated as it is to 
the Guizot, Thiers and Vitet prizes, will be in all respects consti- 
tuted under the most honorable conditions, and the Academy in 
future will have no difficulty in making a good use of it and in 
a way to afford you entire satisfaction. 

With the thanks of the Academy, please accept, Madame, my 
respectful homage. 

Camille Doucet. 



The official record of the action of the Academy in 
reference to the Botta prize at its annual session on 
the 24th of November, 1887, runs as follows: 

As modified by the will, by the good will, of its founder, the 
prize, at first destined by Madame Botta as a recompense for some 
moral and philosophical work on the "Condition of Women," 
has received a different destination. In future this prize of three 
thousand francs will be bestowed every three years, and, as in the 
case of the Vitet prize, the Academy will appropriate this sum 
in the way that shall seem best to it "in the interest of letters." 
In announcing this good news to all those who may soon be 
called to profit by it, 1 have pleasure in publicly thanking, in 
their name as in our own, the kind benefactress, the generous 
American lady who for the second time manifests her sympathy 
for French writers and her confidence in the Academy, by 
charging us with one of those commissions which it is not always 
easy, but .ilways agreeable, to have to discharge. 

1 At the next silting the Academy decided to offer out of the Botta 
Fund a Gold Medal of Honor to the author of " Pensees d'une Reine," 
Carmen Sylva (the nom de plume of the Queen of Roumania) ; and two 
prizes of 2500 francs each to two other women writers. 



an Blbum anD tbe jfrencb acaDcmg 

The fate of this effort of Mrs. Botta to encourage 
a more profound and careful study of the interests of 
her sex is calculated to provoke reflections which this 
is scarcely an appropriate place to record, but the effort 
itself, though it failed to be crowned with the kind of 
success she had hoped for it, was a shining illustration 
of one of the noblest traits of her character and con- 
stitutes a substantial title to the respect and gratitude 
of her sex. It may also ultimately prove more useful 
to mankind than if her original limitations had been 
insisted upon. 

Mrs. Botta was not only a poet — though never 
making any pretensions to fame as a poet — she 
was also an artist. Her busts of some of our well- 
known country people are justly esteemed for their 
merit, and bear evidence of a talent for which a little 
more ambition would have insured distinction. She 
was the author of several books, all designed to in- 
struct rather than to amuse, some of which, though 
published more than thirty years ago, are still in 
general use in schools and colleges, and are perpetu- 
ating her influence in the community of which she 
was deem et ttitamen. Fortune smiled upon her 
labors, and she lived to verify the soundness of the 
theory with which she began, and to which she 
adhered through life, that making herself useful to 
the world was the best way of making the world 
useful to her. 

Our city has had to mourn the loss of few women 
who had more friends, and none perhaps who was 
more universally respected. 

223 



a paper 



READ BEFORE THE NINETEENTH CENTURY CLUB 
By Mrs. Katherine L. Youmans. 



Q;^^^/^ gladly fulfil the request of my associates 
r^ ^ ^^ ^^^ Nineteenth Century Club to say 
t^^TtB^ a few words in memory of my old and 
cherished friend, Mrs. Vincenzo Botta, though in the 
brief and crowded time allotted me 1 fear my tribute 
will prove most meager and inadequate. 

Mrs. Botta's history has been for so long a time an 
open book to New-Yorkers that its details are prob- 
ably familiar to most of us ; still a whole generation 
has come upon the scene since she took her place on 
it, and the story is certainly full enough of interest to 
bear repetition. Miss Lynch was the daughter, on 
one side, of an able and brilliant young Irish patriot 
who was imprisoned for four years for the part he 
took in the uprising of " United Irishmen " in 1798 
(during which he was offered not only liberty, but a 
commission in the English army, if he would swear 
allegiance to its government), and then banished to 
this country; and, on the other, of a bright, brainy 
executive New England mother of choicest Revolu- 

224 



a paper 

tionary blood. Thus equipped by inheritance with a 
capacity for independent thinking, she improved it to 
the utmost by a girlhood of earnest study under the 
ablest teachers of the land. Even as a school-girl her 
poems and essays elicited much admiring comment. 

Coming to New-York in the year 184s with quite 
a reputation as a writer in varied lines as well as that 
of an able and successful teacher, she engaged in her 
fiivorite employment of instruction of young ladies. 
Endowed with a personality of great magnetism and 
graceful charm, she soon gathered around her the 
choicest spirits of her new home and of neighboring 
towns, as well as of visiting strangers of .'istinction 
from beyond the sea. Her rooms became a favorite 
rallying-point for persons em'ncut in every line of 
successful achievement, — the leading writers, artists, 
scientists, and dramatists both of the Old World and 
the New, — as well as a home where the disappointed 
and hard-pressed found solace and rest. 

The educating, refining influence of such a social 
center in this then crude, uncultured mercantile me- 
tropolis can scarcely be overestimated. It was em- 
phatically a triumph of "high thinking and plain 
living"; for Mrs. Botta always retained the French 
simplicity of salon entertainment, even when the 
ample means of later days would have warranted a 
more lavish expenditure, and when the practice was 
universal of luxurious table-cheer. It was, moreover, 
a triumph of broad and liberal thinking ; for the largest 
mental hospitality was a marked feature of these re- 
unions. As in our own club, no one was ever made 
15 225 



Bnnc C. %. asotta 

uncomfortable by his belief or his unbelief. Jew 
and Gentile, Buddhist and Romanist, the orthodox 
enthusiast and the cool-headed Agnostic, were wel- 
comed alike, so long as they were honest and earnest, 
so long as they were gentle in spirit and courteous in 
utterance. Indeed, the spirit of the hostess was too 
elevated and serene, too far removed from the petty 
rivalries, jealousies, and animosities of lesser natures 
not to impress itself powerfully upon the character 
of the gatherings under her roof. The environment 
was irresistibly tranquilizing. Fraternization and 
gcod-comradeship were in the air. How many 
struggii. 7 young aspirants for fruitful recognition, 
how many defeated and sore-hearted toilers for the 
success which eternally eluded their grasp, have 
found here emphatically a "helping hand" and a 
* ' sheltering arm " ? How many successful ones in the 
prosperity of their after lives have gratefully acknow- 
ledged their indebtedness to the encouragement and 
stimulation given by this wise-judging, generous- 
hearted woman ? 

In 1855 she was happily married to Vincenzo 
Botta, a professor of philosophy in the Royal Col- 
leges of the University of Turin. Mr. Botta in his 
early life had become identified with the liberal party 
in the political movement of the years 1847 and 1848 
having for its object the securing a constitutional 
government in Piedmont and through it the inde- 
pendence and the unification of Italy as a nation. In 
1 849 he was elected member of the Piedmontese Par- 
liament, and later he was sent with a colleague to 

226 



a paper 

Germany to investigate the system of education pre- 
vailing in various parts of that country. In 1853 he 
was charged with the same mission to the United 
States, where he fmally decided to remain. He was 
soon appointed professor in the University of the City 
of New-York. He is the author of several valuable 
works, among which may be mentioned "A Mono- 
graph of the Life and Policy of Count Cavour," and 
"An Introduction to the Study of Dante." Being in 
this country at the time of our civil war, he was able, 
through his connection with the press of Italy, to pro- 
mote and to strengthen the sympathy of his country- 
men for the abolition of slavery and the restoration of 
the Union . He is a correspondent-member of the Royal 
Academy of the Lincei, in Rome, which is to Italy what 
the Institute is to France. In recognition of services 
rendered to the Italian Government in this country, 
he received from Victor Emmanuel the Cross of Com- 
mendatore in the Royal Order of the Cross of Italy, 
of which the King is the First Master. Later, he was 
presented by King Humbert with a beautiful gold 
medal bearing this inscription : " To Vincenzo Botta, 
in every fortune of his country a wise interpreter of 
Italian thought to the great and friendly people of the 
United States. — Umberto." 

In 1849 ^iss Lynch published a volume of short, 
graceful poems, beautifully illustrated by her artist- 
friends. 

In i860 appeared Mrs. Botta's "Handbook of Uni- 
versal Literature " (revised and brought down to 
i8qo three years ago), a work evincing great in- 
227 



annc C. X. JBotta 

dustry of research, delicacy of literary insight, and 
well-poised judgment. She was rewarded for this 
laborious work by its wide acceptance as a volume of 
reference and an educational text-book. Mrs. Botta 
was unremitting in her services to the cause of edu- 
cation. To her own sex she was especially helpful, 
and, though she had small sympathy with what is 
popularly termed the emancipation of women, no 
one could be more deeply sympathetic with their 
aspirations for a higher and nobler life. Her aim 
was to fit them to use worthily the large liberty 
they craved. 

Her own life, in its rare symmetry, was a 
beautiful example of her teachings: the devoted 
daughter and wife; the faithful friend, who counted 
no sacrifice too great in behalf of those she loved; 
the earnest lover of humanity, who saw good in 
all, and from whose gentle lips came never a word 
of censure for the shortcomings of others, though 
her self-criticism was severe and her standard of 
right living exactingly high ; the wise, intelligent 
ruler of her household, whose working seemed to be 
that of delicate machinery, so quiet was it and fric- 
tionless; and the gracious hostess who was always 
swift to welcome both friend and wayfarer to what 
Emerson used to call "The house of expanding 
doors." Her industry was tireless. Besides an ex- 
tensive range of choice reading, which brought her 
in close touch with the leading interests of the day, 
she had always in hand some task requiring either 
activity of brain or skill of manipulation ; and at the 

228 



B paper 

time of her death she was employed in writing a 
historical work for the use of schools, and was giving 
the finishing touches to a portrait bust of an English 
friend. Indeed, so successful were her efforts in 
sculpture that it was evident that if she had not so 
early chosen a literary and educational career, she 
might have won a distinguished reputation as an 
artist. 

The pathetic circumstances attending the sudden 
taking-off of our friend were especially painful to her 
associates of this club, for it was in the exposure in- 
cident to her attendance upon its social duties that 
she received her death-blow ; but this swift transla- 
tion without the ordeal of a painful illness was what 
she earnestly longed for. For her it was a blessed 
gain that she passed away with no thought that her 
last hour was close at hand. 

The sharpness of the sudden blow was for us who 
loved her, and who feel that such a loss will make 
the world seem infinitely poorer for evermore. Like 
its distinguished founder, she strongly impressed her 
own personality upon the spirit of our club, and has 
left us a legacy in the society whose interests she had 
so near at heart; and it seems to me we can further 
the prosperity we are so earnestly laboring to secure 
in no surer way than by shaping our councils in full- 
est accord with the teachings of her own broad-lined, 
vari-sided, forceful and beneficent life. 



229 



1Rc0Olution0 

OF THE "WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON CLUB,"' NEW-YORK. 
By the Secretary of the Club. 



» 



'T a meeting of the "Wednesday Afternoon 
Club" the following resolutions were offered: 



Whereas, In the orderly and beautiful sequence of 
life, that great experience which we call death has 
befallen one of our number ; therefore 

Resolved, That in the passing away of Mrs. Botta, 
the "Wednesday Afternoon Club" recognizes the 
loss of its most honored member. 

Resolved, That her rare mind, her broad culture, 
her pleasure in the prosperity of the club, and her 
constant friendliness to what was best in its intention, 
have been, since its foundation, among the most help- 
ful and inspiring of its influences. 

Resolved, That while no tribute of so formal a 
nature as this can express our sense of that radiant 
energy and sincerity of soul which demanded a like 
high-heartedness in others, yet we wish to put 
on record even so inadequate a recognition of her 
many-sided capacity, her intellectual distinction, her 
spiritual loveliness, and her belief in the evidence 
of things unseen. 

230 



IResolutions 

The resolutions were spoken to as follows by the 
secretary : 

Some one has truly said of Mrs. Botta that a sense 
of her untimely taking off, as if she were too young 
to go, moves those who knew her best. Perhaps 
this wonderful youthfulness of hers, which was never 
levity, was her most remarkable characteristic. Her 
nature was profoundly serious. Always she had con- 
sidered life as a trust, an experience, an agency ; 
never as a personal possession, to be used according 
to her wish or momentary need. She felt the woes 
and wants of this world of confusion and uncertainty, 
and did her best to better them. Yet, withal, over 
this earnestness of her character flickered ever an 
almost frolic gaiety of spirit, as if she knew that 
more than for its needed food and fire, so to speak, 
the soul asked for light. She came of a Celtic father, 
gay, humorous, full of impulsive chivalry, and of a 
practical New England mother, herself of Revolution- 
ary stock, clear of judgment, careful of the household 
economy, upright, exemplary, and "facultied." In 
the daughter these inherited qualities blended into a 
most harmonious whole. Years ago, when she had 
classes in an unremembered New-York — the New- 
York "before the war" — and was overworked, and 
had many persons to provide for, her modest lodgings 
were beautiful with refinement, were attractive to the 
best people, and constituted, perhaps, the one lite- 
rary center in that crude commercial city where Mrs. 
Potiphar was a leader of fashion and Mr. Solomon 
Gunnybags the prototype of the honored citizen. 

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annc C, X. JBotta 

Afterward, when the beautiful house in Thirty- 
seventh street opened its doors, everybody who by 
attainment or quality deserved a welcome received 
one. Mrs. Botta was the most delightful of hostesses 
because she never remembered herself. The sincer- 
ity of her welcome, and her conviction of the agree- 
ableness of her guests, made them always agreeable. 
Or perhaps some large part of the perpetual pleasant- 
ness of the house was due to the pleasantness of the 
domestic life within its walls. It is not often that 
two people of like culture, of like interests, of like 
pursuits, have the good fortune to live together for 
half a lifetime, and thus to develop that delicate 
intimacy of mind and heart that makes them ideal 
comrades, as were the master and mistress of this 
abode, if her charm of manner were her father's 
legacy, the New England side of Mrs. Botta had its 
full expression. She was a finished housekeeper, 
her domestic administration being orderly, careful, 
and regular. But she never sacrificed her home to 
her house. The housekeeping was dainty that the 
home might exist, and she said that she had long ago 
learned the wisdom of being deaf, dumb, and blind 
when the exigencies of household management re- 
quired it. She was an exquisite needlewoman, 
making the most artistic and elegant of trifles, and 
even sewing seams, if need were. But of late years 
she used laughingly to declare it a kind ofirreligion 
for those women to sew who could afford to hire 
sewing, because, in every case, it defrauded two per- 
sons of their rights. She had a great talent for 

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•Resoluttons 

cookery, composed an occasional dish with the deli- 
cacy of a cordon bleu, and was not at a loss if her 
cook departed without notice. Her artistic side is 
better known to most of us perhaps. She used to 
draw and paint in earlier days, and for sculpture it 
may be said with all restraint that she had genius. 
When a portrait bust of her modeling was lately sent 
to Rome to be put into marble, the foremost of 
Italian sculptors, not knowing its maker, declared 
that nothing would be beyond the reach of the artist 
if he would come to Rome and study technique for a 
year. 

These things should be spoken of here, because 
Mrs. Botta was so modest that nobody would ever 
have learned from her that she had any special gift or 
grace. To praise her literary work is superfluous, but 
it should, perhaps, be added that her literary taste 
was perfect, and that she proved herself an able critic 
by not being hypercritical. She felt the author's in- 
tention and endeavor, and she recognized the suc- 
cess of that which is often called failure. 

But, after all, her true genius was a moral genius. 
Her life is the one finished and perfect work which is 
left to us. She saw, as she once said, that for each of us 
nature lays broad the foundations of a divine building, 
if the soul will build thereon — and her soul did build. 
In one respect she seemed almost unique among 
women. Her judgments had no personal bias. If 
you were unjust to her, or indifferent, or misrepre- 
sented her, that made no difference in her attitude 
toward you. She still praised your excellencies. If 

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nnnc C. X. JBotta 

she thought you had defects, she never mentioned 
them ; she never even dwelt upon them in her 
thought. The core and center of her being v^^as love. 
She asked nothing ; she gave all things. And per- 
haps the fittest that can be said of her creed and deed 
is what she herself has said in a little poem called 



Go forth in life, O friend, not seeking love ; 
A mendicant that with imploring eye 
And outstretched hand asks of the passers-by 

The alms his strong necessities may move. 

For such poor love, to pity near allied. 

Thy generous spirit should not stoop and wait, 

A suppliant, whose prayer may be denied. 
Like a spurned beggar's at a palace gate ! 

But thy heart's affluence lavish, uncontrolled, 
The largess of thy love give full and free. 

As monarchs in their progress scatter gold. 
And be thy heart like the exhaustless sea. 

That must its wealth of cloud and dew bestow, 

Though tributary streams or ebb or flow. 



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TO MISS ANNA PLATT. 

Hartford, Conn., November ii, 1835. 

My dear Anna: . . . This is my birthday, and 
I am twenty years old. Who that knows me would 
not rather say sixty? I believe I have had every 
variety of feeling humanity is capable of, and there 
remains nothing for me now, not even a disappoint- 
ment. My mind, too early matured, has reached at 
this period the limit it should only have attained at 
threescore; and now, like some plant, blossoming 
prematurely, it droops and withers, while all around 
it is verdant. 

But you will call me an egotist, and I shall deserve 
it ; so let me turn to some more agreeable topic. 

I have been reading Sismondi's "Literature of 
the South of Europe" in connection with " The His- 
tory." It is exceedingly interesting. Do let me give 
you a hint or two about study ; it may tire you, but, 
indeed, I cannot avoid it. It is the strongest proof of 
my friendship, for I assure you there are not many 
that I think are worth teaching. 1 have had some 

237 



nmc C. %. JBotta 

thought of writing a work on education, but I get so 
disheartened at seeing people so ignorant of the dif- 
ference between good and bad. that I think they may 
go to their " wallowing in the mire."' 

You will say that you go to school and get all your 
lessons well. I grant it. You may do this until you 
are nineteen. — then you leave, and you know, per- 
haps, ten or twelve books perfectly. But, my dear 
Anna, this is not knowledge ; it is drudgery, and you 
go to it as a task. It is the mere stowing away of a 
few isolated facts that you have no command over, 
and are as likely to bewilder as to benefit. It is like 
being in a dim recess and looking out at the land- 
scape : everything is indistinct and mutilated, but go 
on some high tower and you comprehend the whole 
in all its beauty. 

The great defect in education is this : you see only 
parts of beautiful pictures, the moral or design of 
which you amnot comprehend without the whole. 
One word of advice, and I am done. Read an epit- 
ome of the history of the whole world, — I mean of 
every country, beginning with the oldest, — and get 
the skeleton firmly marked out in your mind. Then 
take up the distinguished individuals, the literature, 
arts, sciences, and religions in their order. In this 
way you would acquire more in three months than 
in ten years at an ordinary school. I could amplify 
to infinity, but I forbear. . . . You may think this 
too superficial a method ; but by no means must 
you stop at the end of three months — nor will 
you wish to do so, for you will have comprehended 



Selecttons from Iber Xetters 

the whole, and the minute details could not fail to 
interest you. . . . 

Affectionately yours, Anne C. Lynch. 



TO HENRY GILES. 

New-York, February i6, 1845. 

Dear Friend: ... I have been thinking over our 
talk about poetry and trying to account to myself for 
the faith that is in me. The poets of antiquity do 
not satisfy me (shall I say such a thing and yet 
live?), and for this reason they can not, they do 
not give us the possible of humanity, but only its 
actual. The Dutch painters may rival nature in their 
cabbages, but you do not place them on a level with 
the ideal artists of Italy, or compare their works with 
the sublime productions of Michelangelo or Ra- 
phael. Yet there is nothing monstrous or unnatural 
in their works ; if there were, we should not recog- 
nize beauty or sublimity in them ; they represent 
the possible of nature. So 1 conceive a great poet 
should do ; not content with merely reproducing 
nature, he should so idealize it as to fill entirely the 
capacity we have to apprehend perfection, and till 
this is done, it appears to me that the greatest poet 
has not spoken. The office of poetry, 1 think, is not 
merely to express beauty or passion (the highest 
office, I mean), but some of the great facts and possi- 
bilities of our natures, because in them lie the high- 
est interests of humanity. 

239 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

We are in a world of sorrow, wretchedness, 
selfishness, and crime ; the ways of men are bowed 
to the earth with one or all of these burdens, un- 
conscious even of their power to stand erect and 
survey the beauteous earth around and the heavens 
above them. 

The poet, or the man of genius, is born to aspire 
where others grovel ; and not only that, but he alone 
has the power of stirring this dull mass, and ele- 
vating it to his own region, or at least to the con- 
templation of it. With this immense lump to be 
leavened, then, how can the true poet rest satisfied 
to sing only for his own amusement? Do tell me if 
you think this is all wrong, or any part of it. I did 
not intend to say so much ; yet it is in me, and if it is 
wrong, 1 wish to correct it. I inclose a poem, which 
please show to the Rev. Dr. Furness, and let me know 
if he likes it. I am very grateful for his kindness in 
the past. . . . 

Believe me ever truly yours, 

Anne C. Lynch. 



New-York, March ii, 1845. 

... I am mentally in the condition of a bottle 
of champagne which has been well shaken and is all 
ready to rush out with a great noise and efferves- 
cence, a sound and fury, which signifies nothing. But 
my great consolation is that things will go on, 
destinies be accomplished, and my own among all 
others, active or passive, nolens volens. Yours will, 

240 



Selections trom Iber Xetters 

too ; and why should we fret and make ourselves 
miserable over this little space of time, that every 
moment makes shorter? Life is not worth the care 
and anxiety we give to it. If we would only think 
for a few minutes every morning : My life will last 
but for a few years, — this, even, may be the last, — 
and I shall go " where all have gone, where all must 
go," and the world will go on just the same ; wis- 
dom will not die with me, and truth, goodness, and 
beauty are alone immortal. If we would do this, it 
seems to me we should live more in the absolute 
and less in the actual. We should become like the 
great principles we worship — almost " impersonal." 
Do work up this thought into a sermon for me ; for 
my own preaching has but little effect. 

Yours, A. C. L. 



TO N. p. WILLIS. 

New-York, December, 1851. 

Dear Friend: . . . Perhaps it is because I know 
that you, like myself, are not known and are not 
happy. Your heart is over-burdened with its love; 
mine is empty. You love like a poet, and one mo- 
ment of such a love is worth ages of this common- 
place sentiment that goes by that name. One is the 
vivid and glowing fire; the other is the painted sem- 
blance of fire. I could love so, and I would rather 
have this power of loving, though it should, as it has, 
" run to waste, or watered but the desert," than to 
16 241 



Bnuc C. X. J6otta 

have all that I see others have, call it by what name 
you will. 

Love ! to that pale uncertain flame 
The fervent God denies his name, 

says Mrs. Norton. Nothing great was ever achieved 
without passion. Appetite is a quality of the senses, 
but passion belongs to the soul, and is the source of 
all enthusiasm and of whatever lifts us above the 
level of that mediocrity where the mass of men are 
destined to live. 

Love, which would be to me the sun of my exis- 
tence, has not dawned on me, and I dwell in the 
dreariness of a polar night. Do not think this a fig- 
ure ; it is literally true. The bloom and perfume of 
my existence has never been called forth, and I feel 
that I shall die without having lived. But do not think 
that 1 complain. " To bear is to conquer our fate." 
1 have struggled bravely with mine ; I have borne 
and conquered. Those who live in the polar regions 
build themselves huts, kindle their fires, and light 
their torches — ineffectual substitutes for the sun. 
One single ray shines on my polar night ; this is 
the love of what is beautiful in sentiment, in action, 
or in outward form or manifestation. The passion 
of my soul that should have been given to love beams 
on the altar of the beautiful. The light that it gives 
me, it is true, is cold as the beams of the Aurora 
Borealis ; but it is constant and increasing, and if 
I could forget the sun, it would be more sufficing. 

Without any vulgar ambition for distinction, I have 
242 



Selections from 1ber Xetters 

yet the strongest desire to give expression to some 
of the feelings and sentiments that make me "the 
cannibal of my own thoughts." I would like to 
exercise my faculties as a strong man would exer- 
cise his muscles. . . . 

Sincerely yours, A. C. L. 



TO LOUIS KOSSUTH. 

New-York, December i8, 1851. 

Sir : When, two or three years since, the news 
reached us of the disaster that overwhelmed you in 
Hungary, inspired by your character and your hero- 
ism, 1 wrote the accompanying poem. 1 hope you 
will forgive my muse if, at the tomb of Hungary in 
contemplating her future resurrection, she for a mo- 
ment lost sight of her champion ; and now that he 
comes to our shores, not a released captive, but a 
conqueror enchaining all hearts, — a conqueror such 
as the world has never before seen, — I know that 
he will again forgive my muse if, dazzled and over- 
powered, she as yet finds no language for her inspira- 
tion, and has no ideas, but only feelings. 

It is common to speak of the age of poetry as 
passed by ; to me it has always appeared as yet to 
come. While the literature of the past has tended 
only to idealize the actual, I have thought that the 
new and higher literature should aim to elevate the 
actual into the ideal ; that the sublime truths of Chris- 
tianity were yet to be uttered in the trumpet-tones of 

243 



Bnne C. X. asotta 

eloquence and poetry, that should vibrate through 
the universal heart of humanity. 1 have thought that 
this was to come, but in another generation than mine. 

Yet I have listened to the words of the new evan- 
gel as they fell from the lips touched by a coal from 
the altar of God, and even now, as I hear them echo 
from continent to continent, kindling the benumbed 
hearts of the nations, they are to me the sublime 
prelude of a golden age yet to come, as well as a new 
literature, of which I recognize in you the first hero, 
orator, and poet. 

1 have the honor of signing myself, with great ad- 
miration and reverence, truly yours, 

A. C. Lynch. 



EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS TO MR. CHARLES BUTLER. 
New-York, November 3, 1851. 

... 1 must sing the old song, and confess 
that the last week has gone the same way with its 
numerous, 1 cannot add "illustrious," predecessors. 

The mystery as to " what becomes of the pins" 
is nothing in comparison to the wonder — what be- 
comes of the time. 

Then again we can replace pins lost — but not lost 
time. . . . 

1 am truly yours, A. C. L. 

New-York, November 24, i8si. 

... 1 was reading last night a beautiful passage 
from Word.. worth, which, it was said. Smith O'Brien 
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Selections from fbcx Xctters 

had copied over his chimney-piece in Richmond 
prison. "One adequate support for the calamities 
of mortal life exists — one only ; an assured belief 
that the procession of our fate, however sad or dis- 
turbed, is ordered by a Being of infinite benevolence 
and power, whose everlasting purposes embrace all 
accidents, converting them to good." 

What a consoling and tranquilizing thought, and 
what a truth ! . . . 

Sincerely yours, A. C. L. 

New-York, May 19, 1852. 

Dear Mr. Butler : . . . This day is the anniversary 
of our first acquaintance, and I cannot let it pass by 
without at least one line in commemoration of what 
to me is one of the most pleasant incidents of my 
life, and which I am certain you do not regard with 
indifference, for you have given me too many kind 
assurances to the contrary. 

It was my destiny, perhaps my misfortune, to be 
born with some peculiarities — 1 might perhaps say ro- 
mantic peculiarities — of character. My standard was 
high, and 1 have used the word misfortune because 
it seems to express faintly the unhappiness I have 
felt almost all my life in finding most every one fall 
short of it. I demanded something more benevolent, 
more disinterested, more magnanimous, more Chris- 
tian than I found; and my unsatisfied, disappointed 
sympathies and affections came back to my wounded 
heart and brought desolation and almost despair. 

It was in such a state of mind as this that one 
i6* 245 



Bnnc C. X. JBotta 

year ago to-day, as it seemed by chance, and yet as 
I believe was guided by an all-wise Providence, I 
started on the journey we made together — 1 may 
say that we are still making ; for 1 take it for granted 
that this journey, though we did not know it then, 
was the " Voyage of Life," and was to continue as 
we travel on toward that West, where the sun sets 
never to rise again here. 

You cannot understand, my dear Mr. Butler, how 
much you have been to me. You never can because 
you can never know; God alone can know how 
much 1 have needed such a friend. It is not that you 
are kind to me, for I have had kindness and affection 
bestowed upon me often before. It is more, per- 
haps, because your ideas of duty, of life, of goodness, 
and of responsibility correspond with mine ; because 
you are one of those 1 have always been seeking for 
and never have found before. 1 thank God that I 
have met you, for it has made me happier and better; 
and it has awakened in me the desire to be worthy 
of the regard that I feel you entertain for me. I must 
now close this brief and imperfect expression of my 
sentiments on this occasion, and in the mean time 
believe me most truly yours, ^^^^ q Lynch. 

Washington, D. C, November i, 1852. 
Dear Friend: 1 send you a line to tell of my safe ar- 
rival. I feel always a peculiar gratitude after 1, or 
those 1 love, have escaped the perils by land or sea 
that encompass us while traveling. Yet 1 do not see 
why this should be so, unless it is because 1 am not 

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Selections from 1ber Xetters 

grateful enough at other times. It seems to me that 
our whole hves should be one perpetual hymn of 
gratitude and praise ; that as the flower constantly 
sends forth its perfume, so the incense of love and 
adoration should rise constantly from our hearts. And 
thus it would be if we lived always in the sun of God's 
presence ; if the cares of earth did not come like dark 
clouds between us and him and intercept the light of 
his smile, leaving us to the darkness and gloom of our 
own hearts. Is it not strange that, when the " Peace 
of God " has once descended upon us, we should ever 
after distrust it, and drive it away? That Peace that 
passes all understanding, that chastens our joys, and 
sanctifies our sorrows, prepares us alike for adversity 
and prosperity. Yet so we, or I at least, do con- 
stantly ; and so I often dwell in the mists and shad- 
ows of the valley, rather than in the eternal sunshine 
of the mountain-top. To mount upward we must 
toil and struggle. Ole Bull's motto is certainly a true 
one : " By Life, battle — by battle. Life." 

The sun is shining beautifully, and the air is like 
summer. Hoping this will find you well, and en- 
joying the blessings of this world, I am ever truly 
yours, A. C. L. 

New-York, November i6, 1852. 

Dear Friend : . . . The great event (to me) of the 
past week has been the recurrence of my birthday. 
Oh, if these years had been differently improved, I 
should have less cause to regret that they are so 
many. But of all useless and idle things regrets are 

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Bnnc C. X. JBotta 

the most so, unless they stimuhite to something bet- 
ter in the future. Let us then in all things forget 
those that are passed, and press forward toward 
whatever good there is to be found in the future. 
This only is ours ; the past is irrecoverable, irretrieva- 
ble. Let us then rightly improve the days to come. 
1 am speaking for myself; but then these resolutions 
are equally good for you and for every one. 

What occurred yesterday, nothing can change ; 
but to-day, to-morrow, the future is ours, and to a 
great extent we can control it. Why not then 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act, — act in the living Present ! 
Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Foot-prints on the sands of time. 

Foot-prints, that perhaps another, 

Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 

Seeing, shall take heart again. 



Believe me ever sincerely yours. 



A. C. L 



New- York, December i, 1852. 

My dear Friend .• . . . I was very glad to hear of 
your safe arrival, and trust that by this time you are 
safely anchored, where you will find many friends. 

The troubles and trials which beset you on the 

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Selections from Iber Xetters 

way are past ; and I am not sure but such a journey 
might be safely recommended as a moral discipline, 
and a wholesome corrective of any impatience of 
temper. Please write to me always very freely of the 
disagreeable things you encounter. I assure you it 
will be a positive kindness ; for while 1 have nothing 
to think of but my own annoyances, I am quite mis- 
erable ; but I forget them in thinking of those of 
others. This I am convinced is the true secret of 
happiness — the forgetfulness of ourselves in others. 

When we can lose this intense self-consciousness 
in love for the suffering humanity around us, and the 
all-good, all-wise God above us, we have attained the 
highest happiness within our reach here in this life. 

I think we see the truth of this even in art. An 
actor cannot touch his audience until he has lost 
himself in the conception of his part. And the true 
inspiration as applied to art seems only to indicate 
how far a man has forgotten himself. . . . 

With kindest wishes, 1 am sincerely yours, 

A. C. L. 

New-York, January 2, 1853. 

My dear Friend: . . . What a kind Providence 
watches over you everywhere, and over me, too. If 
I could only trust it in my every-day life, in action 
or inaction as I do in my hours of reflection, 1 should 
be borne aloft over much that often depresses and 
distracts me. 

How good and how happy we ought to be ! But 
how impossible it seems for a human being to be 

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anne C. X. asotta 

really happy. Every new possession seems to bring 
a new want. This utter insufficiency of everything 
human and earthly, to satisfy the soul, seems one of 
the strongest proofs of its immortality. 

1 once thought of writing a kind of fairy tale, in 
which the hero should by some supernatural aid have 
all his wishes gratified. He should desire wealth, 
fame, love, power, and each in turn should fail to 
satisfy. At last, in despair, he should resign his su- 
pernatural power of accomplishing his wishes, and 
seek from the guardian spirit who attended him the 
secret of that happiness he had failed to secure. He 
now learns for the first time that " the Kingdom of 
Heaven is within him." That he carries it with him 
and diffuses it around. That it is in seeking the hap- 
piness and good of others that he is to find his own, 
rather than in the pursuit of selfish ends. How 
do you like the plot ? . . . 

1 am sincerely yours, A. C. L. 

Greenwich, Conn., June 19, 1853. 

My dear Friend : . . . The weather has been so 
warm in the city the past week, that I proposed to 
Ma that we come here and spend Sunday. . . . 

We had a pleasant ride of an hour in the cars, and 
when we reached this town found very pleasant ac- 
commodations. I rose very early this morning, in- 
tending to see the sun rise ; but he was ahead of me. 
However, 1 had a most delightful walk of two hours. 

The country about here is beautiful. On one side 
is the sound with Long Island in the distance, and on 

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Selecttons trom Iber ^Letters 

the other a varied and most picturesque landscape. 
Two hours of such tranquil enjoyment as I had in my 
solitary walk this morning, and of such sweet and 
pleasant thoughts, are enough to last one for a week, 
if they are not too exacting, and certainly more than 
most people have. I came home devoutly thankful 
to God that he permitted me to exist in a world of 
so much beauty, and asking nothing more than I pos- 
sess. If one could always feel so ! But then, it is 
well doubtless to have some drawback, some alloy to 
the happiness we are capable of enjoying, or it would 
make '' this life of ours too fair for aught so fleet." 

I have been reading to-day the gospel of John ; and 
the more I read the New Testament, the less it seems 
to me is the spirit of modern Christianity in harmony 
with it : its simple and sublime precepts seem so 
often lost in an empty formalism, in sectarian bitter- 
ness, and Pharisaical goodness. But do not think, 
I pray you, that I would condemn others, or judge 
them, only so far as 1 necessarily must to make my 
own decisions of conduct and life. 

What a beautiful example we have in those mem- 
orable words, "Let him who is without sin among 
you, cast the first stone." If we only followed this 
one principle, what a change there would be in our 
society. But at some future time we will argue 
those points on which we differ, if you choose. I 
am not fond of argument at any time ; but to-day, 
especially, it is out of place. God, nature, and my 
own soul seem to be in such harmony that I would 
not be disturbed by a question or a doubt. 

251 



Bnnc C. %, JBotta 

Trusting you have enjoyed this day to its fullest 
measure, believe me always truly yours, 

A. C. L. 

New-York, January i, 1854. 

Afy dear Friend: The first time I take my pen in 
this new year, or the first use 1 make of it, is to wish 
you the happiest of New Year's and all the blessings 
of this beautiful life. It is not well, 1 suppose, to wish 
to be too happy, or to wish too much for our friends ; 
so if you can be, during the next year, as kindly 
watched over and protected as you have been in the 
years that have passed, we ought perhaps to consider 
the measure full. 1 think 1 can fully understand how, 
in the earlier ages, this sense of the goodness and 
mercy of the Creator should have expressed itself in lit- 
eral or material offerings. Though these are no longer 
required, is there not still in the hearts of all of us a 
sacrificial altar whereon our offerings of gratitude 
should be laid ? And have we not all a Mount Moriah 
whereon we may test our obedience and resignation ? 

Ma joins me in kindest wishes to you for the new 
year. And believe me sincerely yours, 

A. C. L. 

Windham, Conn., April 2 1 , 1854. 

My dear Friend : My beloved mother is very ill. 
She has lain in a sort of stupor all day, moaning with 
every breath. The doctors are doing all they can for 
her, and the people are all very kind. . . . 

April 2 2d. — I have more hope of Ma than 1 had 
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Selections from Iber Xetters 

yesterday, but all is extremely doubtful. Whatever 
it may be, my only prayer is that 1 may have the 
strength to say to my Heavenly Father, ' ' Not my will, 
but thine, be done." If I can only rest on this Rock, — 
the ' ' Rock of Ages," — though the waters of affliction 
sweep over me, 1 shall stand firm. I make a great 
struggle to suppress my emotions. I dread to, and 
dare not, think of the loneliness that awaits me if 
this, my only tie, is severed. But 1 trust that strength 
will be given me. . . . 

April 26th. — My dear mother is much better, and 
continues to improve hourly. It is very pleasant and 
spring-like to-day, and I am so happy. The farmers 
are turning out to plow and plant. What a beautiful 
emblem of the resurrection is this revival of the sus- 
pended life of nature, — this springing forth of the 
seed "sown in corruption, raised in incorruption ; 
sown in weakness, raised in power ! " It is only in 
the country that we can truly feel, or most truly feel, 
that "God is everywhere" present. In the human 
heart only there seems to be something antagonistic 
— something that creates a discord in the divine har- 
mony of the universe. Nature seems to me the mir- 
ror where " the Almighty's form glasses itself" ; as 
heaven is reflected in the waters of a tranquil lake, 
and man is the spirit that troubles the waters and ob- 
scures the heavenly vision. There is a beautiful pas- 
sage of Scripture that 1 promised a friend some time 
ago to write a poem on, — ' ' He shall sit as a refiner of 
silver." It is, or was, the custom of the refiner to 
test the purity of this metal by melting it until he 

253 



anne C. %. JBotta 

could see his face reflected in it. A beautiful com- 
parison, is it not? 

y4pril 2yth. — 1 regret so much that Ma is not fully 
recovered so we might return home again ; and yet 
I am so devoutly thankful for her restoration that I feel 
that I shall never be needlessly unhappy again. The 
events of the past weeks seem to me like a sorrowful 
dream or nightmare, from which I am but too happy 
to awake ; and my gratitude to that kind Providence 
that overrules all things so wisely and so well, either 
for our joy or our sorrow, is deeper than I have lan- 
guage to express. 

With my best wishes and remembrances for you 
and yours, and all who are united to you by the ties 
of kindred and affection, 1 am most truly yours, 

A. C. L. 

Windham, Conn., August i6, 1854. 

My dear Friend: We reached this ancient and 
venerable town about nine o'clock. This is the scene 
of my early experiences, and every tree and stone is a 
familiar object. No other place has ever made such 
an impression on me as this. I have never seen a 
room that looked as large as the old hall when I 
learned to dance at the tavern across the way; and 
the distances about the town were really magnificent 
to my little eyes. 

Children who are born and spend their early lives 
in the city really lose a great charm in life, — the 
charm of realizing these early impressions, as well as 
the advantages of the impressions themselves. 

254 



Selections from 1ber Xetters 

It is quite warm here to-day; but the country, the 
trees, the landscape, — everything, — is beautiful. The 
earth is everywhere radiant with the beauties and 
teeming with the abundance which our Heavenly 
Father lavishes upon us with such profusion. Why 
are we not all happy ? Why are we not all good ? 
Why are we not in harmony with nature and with 
God? Why is not life, as it should be, one continued 
hymn of thanksgiving and of love? We all know 
that it is not; but do we know that we could not 
make it so? To-day it seems to me easy to be good, 
and therefore to be happy ; but this is in the country. 
It is much more difficult amid other surroundings. 
But we may continue to try. 

Ever most truly yours, A. C. L. 

Bennington, Vt., Oct. 8, 1854. 

My dear Friend : This morning I saw the sun rise 
over these beautiful hills and shine into the valleys, 
glorious with their autumnal hues ; and my heart 
and soul were filled with reverence, joy, and grati- 
tude, such as in cities it is impossible to feel ; and, 
naturally enough, this is so, for nature is always in 
harmony with God, while men and society are at war 
with him. All the discord in the universe comes 
from us. Here in this old town all is rest and quiet, 
and here one can enjoy all the harmonies of nature. 

How much you would enjoy this beautiful scenery! 
And 1 wish you might have the rest ; for you are 
always moving about like the veritable "Wandering 
jew." I hope the time will come when you may 

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Bnne C. %. :®otta 

enjoy something of the repose and pleasure of do- 
mestic and private life. 

Your absent ones are now fairly at sea, and if this 
lovely weather extends eastward, they will have a 
pleasant passage. God grant that it may, and that 
they may be restored to you in safety and health. 

I am, with best wishes, very truly yours, 

A. C. L. 



Charleston, S. C, April 9, 1855. 

My dear Friend: ... It is pleasant to have seen 
this country, for we all want to see and experience 
for ourselves ; and, so far, it is really most interesting. 
Botta is very well, very happy, very kind, very good. 
I feel great pleasure in knowing that all my friends 
will love him when they know him. 1 think that 
we cannot fail to be happy, because we consider the 
happirress of each other, rather than our own. 
And if you have read the "Extracts " I sent you from 
the Theologia Germanica, and believe that in this 
renunciation of self lies the highest earthly happi- 
ness, you will think that as long as we are wise 
enough to act on this principle and in this faith, we 
surely must be happy. 

Very sincerely yours, A. C. L. Botta. 

New Orleans, La., April 27, 1855. 

. . . Mr. and Mrs. B went with us to the 

slave-market, where we saw a mother and child sold 

for $325, and many others on the stand, of all sexes, 

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Selections from Iber Xetters 

ages, and conditions, to be sold. This was a most 
painful scene, to see human beings sold as cattle. 

A. C. L. BOTTA. 
New-York, December 23, 1855. 

My dear Friend: I have just heard that my friend 

G has very suddenly lost his only son, who was 

a promising young man ; and the blow falls very 
heavily upon his parents. In thinking of such events, 
how fleeting and transitory life and the world and 
our little desires and efforts all appear ! How strange 
it seems that we do not live farther above them ! Yet 
perhaps it is wisely ordered that we should lose sight 
of the vanity and uncertainty of all things earthly ; for 
if we did but realize the truth, we should be so ap- 
palled and overwhelmed that we should sink down 
in the apathy of despair. It is well, then, that we do 
not feel all the truth ; but it would be better, and we 
should be more serene and tranquil, if we thought 
more earnestly, or could bring the truth more vividly 
to our minds : that so far as this life is concerned we 
are but the beings of a day, and that the only reality 
of this phantasmagoria that we call life, is to be found 
in the exercise of our highest and best faculties, — in 
being and doing good, in loving God supremely, and 
our neighbor as ourself. 

How simple and how beautiful is this sublime pre- 
cept ! It seems to me to contain the essence of Chris- 
tianity, and if we could but live up to it, and act upon 
it, how soon the millennium would be here ! . , . 
1 am most truly yours, A. C. L. Botta. 

17 257 



"Bnnc C. %. asotta 

Palenville, Catskill Clove, July 18, 1858. 

My dear Friend: We had a charming sail up the 
Hudson River. Iwent immediately to the pilot's room, 
and asked permission to sit there, which was accorded 
to us cheerfully. The view of the river was splen- 
did, and when we landed, the drive here to this place 
was delightful, and the scenery really beautiful. The 
inn is just by the creek, which roars steadily all the 
time, producing a most somnolent effect. The moun- 
tains rise on both sides for several hundred feet, and 
are surmounted by bold rocks. 

I should like to introduce you to the woods, hills, 
and waterfalls of this charming region. It is raining 
to-day, but yesterday was beautiful and the landscape 
magnificent. From our window we can see through 
the opening of the Clove the blue hills of Massachu- 
setts, and the varying light and shadow upon them 
makes them an unfailing pleasure to look at. 1 have 
never seen them so beautiful as yesterday. The falls 
are very beautiful, and the view from the Mountain 
House is really grand. 1 enjoy it all very much, and 
shall try to do some painting while here. 

... I am reading a charming book called "Cele- 
brated Characters," by Lamartine. Those of the first 
volume are Nelson, Heloise, Columbus, Bernard de 
Palissy,and Cicero. Although the subjects were not 
new to me, it is extraordinary with what a new charm 
he invests them all. It is a book worth owning, and 
if you have any leisure for reading this summer you 
will be charmed with this. 

338 -— ■ 



Selections trom fbev ILetters 

. . . We have had a delightful drive home from the 
ferry; the air hazy, and the mountains more blue and 
beautiful than I had ever seen them before. I was 
very glad to have Botta back, you may be assured ; for 
1 was rather forlorn without him. I did not know or 
realize before how much I am indebted to his sweet 
and gentle influence for the degree of equanimity lo 
which 1 have attained. He is my balance-wheel, I find, 
and his devoted and untiring affection a necessity that 
cannot be dispensed with. To live, even for a few 
days, among persons who are perfectly indifferent to 
me, I find is no more easy for me now than when I 
was younger. Affection is my atmosphere ; 1 cannot 
live without it, although I sometimes have ; but it 
was like a fish trying to sustain himself out of water. 
I must love those I am with ; they must love me. I 
think, dear friend, you have something of the same 
weakness, — if it is weakness, — and this is one bond 
of sympathy between us, among many others, all 
of which, as far as I know, are harmonious, none 
discordant. 

What a sweet and pleasant friendship ours has 
been ! 

... No sound breaks the Sabbath stillness but 
the murmur of the waterfalls and the hum of the in- 
sects. We have found our cathedral to-day in this 
magnificent temple of nature, where God himself 
speaks in tones more eloquent than human tongues 
can approach. 

His almighty power, his infinite goodness, his 

2SQ 



anne C. X. 3Botta 

boundless love, we behold at every step : in the 
mountains heaved up from their rocky beds, in the 
fields waving with their wealth of grain, in the myri- 
ads of beings, all seeming happy (except only man), 
in the beauty, the lavish beauty, which clothes and 
mantles all. 

How strange that in a world of such harmony, 
man alone should make the discordant note! that 
in this great symphony of creation we only should 
sing out of tune, and spread over this beautiful world 
the pall of our own unhappy individuality ! 

... I have been reading Homer, and cannot say 
that 1 am much edified by it. As you know, " The 
Iliad " is a collection of poems written by poets of 
different ages in the history of the civilization of 
Greece. These were collected by Homer, who gave 
them the unity of an epic poem. At least this is the 
opinion of Vico and other eminent critics. The ar- 
tistic form is beautiful and sometimes sublime ; but 
the poem describes periods of civilization that were 
entirely primitive and semi-barbarous. 1 feel sure 
that the world has advanced since that time, and 
that our own war for the abolition of slavery and 
the permanence of free institutions deserves an 
epic poem a thousand times greater than " The 
Iliad." 

P. S. — These lines I copied from some late work 
of Bulwer : 

The world's most royal heritage is his who most enjoys, most 
loves, and most forgives. 

A. C. L. B. 
260 



Selections from Ibec ILctters 

New-York, January 2, 1859. 

My dear Friend: What a life of possibilities this 
is, and realities too! It is good to have lived — 
and good to die, when the hour comes. I think 
most every one feels this when the moment arrives. 
So many aspirations are stifled, so many hopes 
crushed, so many disappointments and vexations, 
great and small ; such losses, such changes, such 
trials, such dangers in this "fitful fever" we call 
life, — that there must come a certain calm and sense 
of repose when we can cast it all aside, and enter on 
a new and higher plane. Three of my friends have 
passed away in the last three months, and yet, as 
Thomas a Kempis says, "We think more of the 
length of life than of the certainty of death." 

. . . Why, here is your birthday coming round 
again! They are not "merry-go-rounds" either, to 
any of us. But the days pass on swifter and swifter 
to the end. I sometimes wish we could have another 
chance in life; the privilege of returning and trying 
it over again. We make so many mistakes, and lose 
so much time in learning to live ; and before we have 
learned, we are gone. How many of our friends are 
gone ! How few of us are left ! But if in departing 
from this earth we can but leave behind us "foot- 
prints on the sands of time," there is nothing to re- 
gret, except the separation for a time from those we 
love. 

. . . Everything is ordered wisely and well, and 
whatever we cannot control must be for the best in the 
•7* 261 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

end. If we could only keep this in mind, we could 
float over the stormy waves of this life in peace. It 
is the want of faith and trust that causes all our 
perturbations and distresses ; or, the most of them. 
Sincerely yours, 

A. C. L. B. 

. . . I have been reading a letter of Franklin which 
is very cheerful in its views of death. Our ideas of 
death seem to me to be altogether too gloomy. If 
there is an eternal life awaiting us on the other side 
of that dark passage, where we shall meet those 
whom we have known and loved here, and be re- 
united to them forever, where there will be no more 
sin, nor sorrow, nor parting, why do we "linger 
shivering on the brink, and fear to launch away"? It 
is because we do not live up to our belief. Practically, 
we are unbelievers. 

New-York, December 23, 1859. 

My dear Friend: . . . We are so happy in our 
relations with each other, Botta and 1. He is so 
affectionate and good, and my lonely, sad life is so 
brightened and blessed with his beautiful affection 
for me. My blessings are so great and so numerous 
that I say often with the Psalmist, " My cup runneth 
over." I, more than any one, ought to be happy, and 
I am. Only 1 have talked so long and so loud about 
doing something that it is difficult to relinquish the 
idea altogether, and I have not yet done so. You 
well know that 1 have always been opposed to set- 
tling down ; and 1 have thought that those women 

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Selections from fter Xetters 

did wrong who left the world and restricted their 
sympathies and their affections to their own narrow 
circle. 

But I begin to feel creeping over me a very strong 
impulse to let the world go by, and drop behind into 
a quiet nook, — there to stay, with the two or three 
who love me, while the great "machine" rolls by 
with its noise and dust. This, 1 say, is my impulse ; 
but 1 shall not yield to it, because 1 think it a selfish 
one, and because 1 think it better for Botta that I 
should not, as he is already too much disposed to 
retire within his shell. It is clearly my duty to be 
"a thorn in his side," and to prevent his becoming 
too much a recluse and too hard a student. But so- 
ciety, as it is constituted, is certainly a very poor 
affair, and pays a very small dividend on the invest- 
ments in finery and carriage hire. Still, if 1 can do 
something to make it better in my own house and 
by my own example, do 1 not owe it to " posterity " 
to do it, — although, as some one said, "posterity 
has done nothing for us"? . . . 

Ever truly yours, A. C. L. B. 



My dear Friend : ... 1 believe I have often quoted 
to you these favorite lines : 

Give me the spirit that on life's rough sea 
Would have its sails filled with a lusty wind: 
Even till the sail-yards tremble, the masts creak, 
And the vast ship runs on her side, so low 
That she drinks water, and her keel plows air. 
2b} 



Bnnc C. X. :©otta 

My sails, however, hang flapping about the masts, 
and my ship lies rolling in the harbor. 1 am like the 
great "Pennsylvania," the war-ship that was built 
in Philadelphia so long ago, and which has never left 
the harbor. 

. . . There is something in this New England air 
that is native to me. All my early life was passed 
here, and this I consider a great advantage. Certain 
modes of life and habits of thought peculiar to this 
section cling always after to those who have passed 
their youth in it. 

... 1 have just come from the funeral of a friend. 
Only a week ago I met him and had a pleasant little 
talk. How small and insignificant our little cares and 
troubles seem in this great presence of death, so 
near to each one of us ! Pray, think, at the longest 
how soon all will be over for every dweller on the 
earth at this hour ! 

A. C. L. B. 



New-York, i6th November, 1863. 
... Do not feel, my dear friend, that your beloved 
son is no more. He still lives, but in another and a 
higher sphere, far above the cares and sorrows of 
this poor life, in which we wander as in a troubled 
dream, and which is so incomplete and unsatisfying 
to those who live longest here. "Whom the gods 
love die young," was a saying of the ancient heathen 
poets. May it not be true in our higher and Chris- 
tian view? Except for the few who love us, and 

264 



Selections from t)er Xetters 

whom we love, there is nothing here to live for but 
our duties, which we ought to be willing to lay 
aside when we are called to a higher destiny. But 
there is everything to die for — a more enlarged 
sphere of action and development, the company of 
the great and good, the "saints of all ages," the 
" noble army of martyrs," the more immediate pres- 
ence of the Father of love and light, and his divine 
love. 

Why, then, should we not feel that those who have 
preceded us on this heavenly journey are " not lost, 
but gone before" ? Why should we not regard their 
departure with cheerful resignation, and, with our 
"lamps trimmed and burning," prepare to follow 
them ? 

Dreams cannot picture a world so fair; 
Sorrow and death may not enter there. 
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom 
Beyond the skies and beyond the tomb. 
It is there. 



New-York, February 14, 1868. 

My dear Friend : . . . This is your birthday, and 
I wish we could do something to honor it more 
worthily than to send these few lines of congratula- 
tion. — if it is a matter of congratulation to get a year 
older. 

. . . Here are some sentences from Alcott, who 
gave a series of conversations some time ago at Dr. 
Bellows': " Our despair is the measure of our aspira- 
tions." " We become drudges because we cease to be 

265 



annc C. X. JSotta 

ideal." " Every act of our lives should be religious." 
In the conversation on Victories he said, " Health is 
victory — one of the greatest — Position, Blessedness, 
Forgiveness: but the highest of all is Friendship. 
Whoever has not won a friend, has not entered into 
the kingdom of heaven. What is all this planet and 
universe if we have not found a friend ? This is the 
victory of victories." " In our daily life we do not 
economize our solaces. Life is too mighty a trust to 
be wasted as we waste ourselves." Emerson says : 
••The one event which never loses its romance is 
the alighting of a superior person at our gate." 

A. C. L. B. 

August 4, 1877. 

My dear Friend : We were grieved to hear the sad 

account you gave of Mr. O . As you had no 

hope, we are expecting to hear that all is over, and that 
that genial and kindly spirit, so full of energy and life, 
has passed away from us forever. Looking back over 
an acquaintance and friendship of so many years (for 
1 knew him long before 1 knew you), and remember- 
ing what a power he has been and how much he has 
done, 1 find it difficult to realize that the world will 
soon know him no more. But religion tells us that 
with death the scene of our activity only changes, and 
science confirms this belief in the great doctrine of the 
••conservation of forces." What we shall do in this 
untried state ; how much of our individuality we shall 
retain; whether we shall know and love those whom 



Selections from "fcec Xetters 

we have known and loved here, — these are great 
questions which are always asked and never an- 
swered, and never can be answered except by those 
who have passed to "the undiscovered country, from 
whose bourn no traveler returns," that country to- 
ward which we are all hastening so fast. 

Sincerely yours, A. C. L. Botta. 



TO MISS S. A. 

Newport, R. I., July, 1849. 

My dear Friend: Feeling that you would be very 
much interested in the events of the past few days 
at this charming resort, and particularly in the re- 
ception which was given Mr. Clay, 1 do myself the 
pleasure of writing to you and giving you an account 
of it. When he arrived here, a dense multitude cov- 
ered every inch of ground in sight : the flags were all 
flying, and as the cars approached, the bells began to 
ring most merrily. When the venerable head of Mr. 
Clay appeared towering above the crowd, handker- 
chiefs waved, cheers rent the air, and the coldest 
hearts were stirred with enthusiasm. Hero-worship, 
it appears to me, is one of the original and higher in- 
stincts of our nature, and one which is closely allied 
to the religious sentiment. We see what is great and 
good and superior to ourselves, and we seek to ally 
ourselves to it by our admiration and reverence ; 
we touch the hem of the garment, and a virtue is 
given out from it. 



anne C. %. JBotta 

The personal popularity of Mr. Clay, aside from his 
political standing, is no mystery to those who witness 
the extraordinary kindness of his manner toward all 
who approach him. Ill and wearied, as he must be 
to the last degree, he loses all thought of himself in 
his desire to give pleasure to others, and it is painful 
to see with how little consideration they avail them- 
selves of this high-bred courtesy. Deputations of 
men, women, and children from the surrounding 
towns pour in upon him, and he is introduced to sixty 
or seventy people; he shakes hands, says something 
agreeable to each one, with the courage and fortitude 
of a hero and a martyr, — as he is, — and retires to his 
room to recruit for the next mission. It is of no use 
to refuse to see them ; they will be admitted ; and it 
was announced the other day, in the advertisement of 
an excursion that was to take place from New London 
to Newport, that persons would thus have an oppor- 
tunity to see and converse with Mr. Clay. Whatever 
our national faults may be, a fastidious delicacy is 
not one of them. The presence of Mr. Clay and the 
members of his family which accompany him has 
made this a most attractive season at Newport. To 
have seen and spoken with one so beloved of our 
country, who belongs to her history, — a fixed star in 
her constellation of statesmen and patriots, — is an 
event to be remembered and spoken of with equal 
pride and pleasure. 

You well know there has been much said and 
written on the subject of manners at watering- 
places ; and some persons are disposed to take 

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Selections trom 1ber Xetters 

offense because a millionaire, or a clique, or a set, 
chance to be exclusive. From my point of view, I 
must say that in the absence of an hereditary and 
acknowledged aristocracy in our country, there is 
also — unfortunately too often — an absence of that 
personal dignity and self-respect which supplies an 
entire confidence in one's own position. 

If as a people we were more eager for the respect 
of ourselves, I am sure we should find less difficulty 
in commanding that of others. 

Now, my dear friend, write to me very soon, and 
believe me 

Most affectionately yours, 

Anne C. Lynch. 

Newport, R. I., September 3, 1849. 

My dear Friend: 1 was very glad to hear from you, 
and will certainly try to keep you informed of any 
interesting event connected with life here in New- 
port. . . . Society people have been very busy pre- 
paring for the fancy ball, which has now passed, and 
with this the season of gaiety closes. It was a most 
gorgeous assemblage of people ; and, you know, a 
fancy ball, like a republican government, allows each 
one the pleasure of displaying his peculiar attrac- 
tions or gifts without restriction ; and on this fair 
field the plainest person, with proper taste in the 
selection of costume, may often bear away the palm 
from acknowledged beauty. 

Mr. Clay was present for a short time at the com- 
mencement of the ball, with his kind words and be- 

269 



anne C. X. asotta 

nignant smiles, delighting the gay groups that sur- 
rounded him. He leaves Newport this evening on his 
return to Kentucky. Notwithstanding the intense 
fatigue he daily experiences from calls and letters, 
which people continually pour in upon him about 
their own affairs, and to which he scrupulously replies, 
and various other annoyances sufficient to wear out 
an ordinary man in good health, he is, in spite of 
it all, essentially improved. An incident occurred 
yesterday morning at this house which occasioned 
some little sensation, it was ascertained that Levi, 
Mr. Clay's personal attendant, was not to be found. 
There was but one inference to be drawn from this 
fact, and that was that he had run away. Mr. Clay 
took no steps to regain him, for he had already freed 
his father and mother, and was about to do the same 
for Levi ; but his great anxiety was in reference to 
the future fate of the absentee, who was not gifted 
with the Yankee faculty of getting along. 

Mr. Clay admitted that Levi had done no more 
than he would do himself in the same circumstances, 
reconciled himself to the laugh his Abolition friends 
would enjoy at his expense, and supplied himself 
with another attendant. An hour after, to the sur- 
prise of all, Levi made his appearance and resumed 
his office of valet de chamhre, to the great annoyance 
of the new incumbent. He stated that throughout 
the journey to the East he had been urged by Aboli- 
tionists, with every inducement that could be held 
out, to leave his master, and that at last they had 
offered him three hundred dollars. An old and freed 



Selections trom Iber letters 

servant of Mr. Clay advised him to go and accept the 
money and return to his master. Whether Levi had 
determined to act on this sage advice does not appear. 
At all events, the parties began mutually to distrust 
each other, and with an honesty worthy of imitation 
in higher places, Levi gave up the bribe and returned. 
The laugh has thus changed sides. 

It is easily understood how an Abolitionist, or, 
indeed, any humane person, might secrete a run- 
away slave — a generous nature could not do other- 
wise; but to seduce by bribery or other means an 
attached servant, as in this case, is unworthy of the 
cause and its advocates. . . . 

1 am very sincerely yours, A. C. L. 



TO MR. F. s. 

Newport, R. I., August 28, 1849. 

My dear Friend : it is a long time since I have had 
a word from you ; and thinking that the fault might 
be at my own door, 1 take my pen and proceed to 
communicate with you at once. 1 wish you would 
come here and spend a few days, for 1 am sure you 
would enjoy it. There are many nice people and 
much entertaining. 

Among the most agreeable features of society here. 
Miss Jane Stuart has opened her cottage and studio 
for the weekly reception of visitors, and her rooms 
are always crowded with the fashion, beauty, genius, 
and distinction assembled here. Her extreme kind- 

271 



Bnnc C. X. JBotta 

ness in receiving, and her great talent in entertain- 
ing iier guests, render the morning of this reunion 
the most delightful of the whole week. 

Huntington, the artist who has taken a studio here 
for the season, also receives visitors one or two days 
in the week. He is just giving the last touches to 
one of his most beautiful compositions, " The Marys 
at the Sepulcher." The angel at the door, pointing 
upward, says, " He is not here ; he is risen." The 
divine repose of this figure, the mingled sorrow and 
faith in the expression of the others, compare with 
nothing I have seen except the "Dead Christ" of 
Scheffer, which it far surpasses in beauty of coloring. 
This picture has been purchased by the Art Union, 
and will be one of the attractions of the gallery. Hunt- 
ington is not content to reproduce flesh and blood in 
their ordinary forms: in his pictures he embodies the 
immaterial. He paints sentiments — soul; and this 
is certainly the highest province of the art. 

1 am sincerely yours, A. C. L. 



TO MRS. M. L. 

New-York, September 30, 1849. 

My dear Friend: Here I am again in New-York, and 
to a genuine New-Yorker there is no season more 
delightful than this month of September. Then 
"the town" returns from its summer rambles and is 
again to be seen in Broadway, the front blinds above 
"Bleecker" are thrown hospitably open, the door- 

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plates brightened, and friends and circles long parted 
meet in pleasant reunions, compare notes, and over all 
the retiring sun of the Indian summer sheds its golden 
rays and its genial warmth. This is really the begin- 
ning of the New- York year, which lasts only until the 
first of July or the first of August, when there is a uni- 
versal suspension of hostilities, — the gay and business 
world treats itself to a vacation, which by this time 
becomes indispensable to its overwrought energies. 
Life is measured by the number of thoughts, emo- 
tions, and sensations experienced, and hence there is 
an intensity of action in these mental processes that 
it is impossible to resist. Like atmospheric influences, 
or like that subtle and mysterious power that we call 
the "spirit of the age," it penetrates the closet of the 
scholar and the workshop of the artisan. Its outward 
manifestation is in the form of "hurry." People rush 
on to the ferry-boats before they touch the wharf, 
rush to the extreme end, and are prepared to rush off, 
at the imminent risk of drowning, as soon as the boat 
gets within jumping distance of the opposite dock. 
There is a universal want of time, though, as some 
one has very wisely said, " We have all the time there 
is." Why do we drive on so? . . . 

Sincerely yours, A. C. L. 

TO MISS EMILY O. BUTLER. 

Evergreen Farm, N. Y., August 9, 1855. 

Dear Emily : . . . The country about here is 
charming. We are about midway between the Sound 

18 37 ^ 



Bnne C. X. asotta 

and the Hudson River, and, contrary to our expecta- 
tions, we iiave found it very cool. I am becoming so 
much in love with it that 1 am almost willing to give 
up New-York for the country. These splendid skies 
and gorgeous sunsets, in contrast to the little patch 
of blue that we catch a glimpse of in Ninth street, 
these beautiful fields and waving trees, compared 
with our dusty streets and brick walls, all seem to 
tell me that life in the country is the truest life ; and 
a better reason still is : *' God made the country and 
man made the town." 

However, when 1 am once more in the whirl of 
New-York life, I shall listen to arguments on the 
other side, doubtless, and be reminded that the city 
has attractions not less than the woods and the fields, 
although so different in kind. 

I hoped to have accomplished some reading this 
summer, and to have again taken up my favorite pur- 
suits of drawing and painting. The most 1 can say 
is, 1 have made a beginning. 1 have commenced 
reading some historical works, making notes as I go 
along. 1 am teaching my nephew, a boy of fourteen 
years, two or three hours of the day ; and this, with 
a little walking, driving, and all the other details of 
life, makes up the day. and makes off with it, long 
before I am ready to part with it. 

Let me tell you a secret, my dear, that may be of 
value to you, as you are young and just beginning in 
life. I have a secret sorrow, a feeling of remorse, 
that nothing in the present or the future can remove 
or alleviate ; and this is a sense of time wasted, of 

274 



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faculties unemployed, and of both having been frit- 
tered away during the past years of my life. How 
much I might have done, and how little I have done, 
is the thought that always oppresses me. It is too 
late for me to remedy the evil, but not too late for 
you to prevent it; therefore I would wish you to 
take warning from me, and spare yourself these bit- 
ter reflections when you reach my age. A word 
more: make notes of what you read ; in the "Queens 
of England," for instance. Each one had prominent 
events in her reign ; note these down, and look them 
over until they are firmly fixed in your mind. This 
may seem laborious at first, but the advantage you 
will derive from it will more than compensate you 
for the effort. . . . 

The cool mornings and evenings now begin to re- 
mind us that the summer is " bearing hence her 
roses," and that we must soon be preparing to re- 
turn to the city. I have passed the last few weeks 
so pleasantly here that 1 am really unhappy at the 
thought of leaving this lovely spot. 

Miss Bremer tells a story, in one of her books, of an 
Eastern prince who asked a sage for some maxim that 
should enable him to bear both prosperity and ad- 
versity. The sage gave him these words, "And 
this, too, will pass away." 

Now, my dear young friend, good night. Let 
me hear from you soon, and believe me always affec- 
tionately yours, 

A. C. L. B. 



275 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 



TO DR. H. W. BELLOWS. 



New-York, December 6, 1838. 

My dear Dr. Bellows : As I have not for some time 
had an opportunity to speai<; with you, I must take the 
opportunity to write. I confess that my instincts of 
humanity are outraged at the idea of exciting among 
the negroes of the South a servile insurrection, which 
it was the avowed intention of John Brown to do, and 
which Dr. Cheever and others seem to regard as the 
highest manifestation of nobleness, patriotism, and 
Christianity. On Sunday last. Dr. Cheever invoked 
God to preserve us from mob violence, in view of his 
own church being attacked, and is quite ready to fall 
back for protection upon the laws of the land in such 
an extremity, while he despises them so much in 
other cases. If the violence of a mob in a Christian 
community is to be deprecated, with how much more 
abhorrence should it be regarded among such an 

1 This letter was written some three years before the South took up 
arms against the United States Government in defense of slavery. On 
her wedding-tour, in 1855, Mrs. Botta had visited some plantations 
owned by friends in the South, and had noticed the intense anxiety 
amounting almost to a panic which there prevailed, due to the fear 
of slave insurrection. This was prompted and encouraged by a small 
party of fanatics in the North, who thought the abolition of slavery 
could be obtained only through such an insurrection, which would have 
wiped out slavery by a general slaughter of the slaveholders. While 
Mrs. Botta openly condemned slavery, both in itself and in its results, 
she protested against, and could not but denounce, such a barbarous 
method of dealing with this problem. And she rejoiced when the sub- 
sequent war, which was brought about by the Southern people, supplied 
a radical solution of this problem through the regular action of the 
government. 

276 



Sclccttons from Iber betters 

ignorant, half-barbarous population as the slaves of 
the South, when the victims are to be the wives, 
sisters, and children of our friends and brothers ! 

To me the terror manifested through the South at 
the bare idea of such an uprising is not ridiculous, as it 
seems to be to most of our Northern journals and some 
of the people. I deeply sympathize with it, and un- 
hesitatingly condemn John Brown for his reckless dis- 
regard for human life, and his one-sided philanthropy 
that would secure a real or imagined good to the slave, 
no matter at what cost to humanity or to civilization. 

I admire courage ; but without wisdom it is a 
dangerous gift. If John Brown has manifested the 
highest Christian principle, as his admirers claim, 
then for me the lessons of Christ must be learned 
anew; for 1 do not think his course sanctioned by 
our Saviour's example or precepts, any more than the 
burning of heretics by the Inquisition, or of Quakers 
by the Puritans, though both were done in his name. 

John Brown was simply, in my view, a brave and 
worthy man who had dwelt on the subject until he 
became a monomaniac. It seems to me that many 
people of intellect and discretion in our community 
are losing their mental balance, and allowing their in- 
stincts and passions to guide them in this great crisis, 
rather than their higher judgment, which the state of 
things so imperiously demands the exercise of. We 
all know that slavery is a great evil, and the blot on 
our national escutcheon ; and we have a right to say 
so, and to express our abhorrence of it. But that we 
have the right to murder the slaveholder in order to 

i8* 277 



Bnne C. X. 36otta 

free the slave, or to incite tiie slave to do so, or even 
to glorify him who does, I do not believe, though 
he may do it in the name of God. Slavery is the in- 
herited curse of the South. She came into the Union 
with this mark upon her, and was accepted with it 
by our fathers, whose patriotism and wisdom we 
never tire of praising. In the struggle that achieved 
our independence, the South bore her part bravely; 
and Virginia gave us Washington, through whom 
we established our nationality and formed a republic 
which is even now the forlorn hope of humanity 
throughout the world. 

Suppose we dissolve the Union by withdrawing 
ourselves, or by driving the South out of it. Do we 
thereby extinguish the evil of slavery? I do not see 
that we do, but we certainly do extinguish the hopes 
that humanity has risked upon our experiment of 
self-government. Slavery is the growth of more 
than two centuries. It cannot be destroyed in a day, 
nor in a longer time, without producing a moral 
shock that would be, perhaps, a still greater evil. 
1 would watch, and pray, and wait. This is not 
the doctrine of the fanatics on either side of Mason 
and Dixon's line, whose limited and distorted vision 
is confined to the narrow limit of the present, and 
whose mutual bitterness and hate are sowing a wind 
which, apparently, will rise a whirlwind upon us all. 
In this emergency it seems to me that all who have 
a calm word to utter should speak out, and at once. 

I am most respectfully and sincerely yours, 

A. C. L. BOTTA. 

278 



Selections trom t>er Xetters 



EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS TO MR. BOTTA/ 

New-York, March, 1865. 

My dear Botta : . . . I am reading Marcus 
Aurelius, — every day a few sentences, and they 
seem to give me wings. Here is one "wing": 
"On every occasion which leads thee to vexation, 
apply the principle that this is not a misfortune, but 
that to bear it nobly is good fortune." " Out of the 
universe, everything from the beginning which hap- 
pens, has been apportioned and spun out to thee." 
"Everything harmonizes with me which is harmo- 
nious to thee, O Universe ! Nothing for me is too 
early, nor too late, which is in due time for thee. 
Everything is fruit to me which thy seasons bring, 

Nature ! From thee are all things ; in thee are 
all things ; and to thee all things return." . . . 

... I have all the time a great sense of wasted 
life, undeveloped powers, and unused faculties, which 
presses upon me with a dreadful weight. Still, I do 
not see how it is to be avoided ; so I try to be cheer- 
ful under it. There are so many books I wish to 
read, so much i would know, so much I would do ; 
and I live on learning and doing — nothing — except 
complaining. 

1 These extracts are from letters Mrs. Botta wrote to her husband 

while he was in Europe. 

279 



Bnne C. X. asotta 

. . . I am sure it would not be well for us to have 
everything we want. Life would be too pleasant, 
and we should not be willing to leave it when our 
summons comes. We have just now been spec- 
ulating as to when you will come, but are lost in 
conjecture. 

... I know that danger and death are at our 
sides every moment of our lives, and you know my 
unwavering conviction, that an inscrutable series of 
cause and effect constitutes all the phenomena of the 
world ; so that there can be no accident, no occur- 
rence, in the universe, except such as was designed 
to take place from all eternity. All that remains for 
us to do, then, is to launch ourselves on this great 
sea of being — to strike out for the great landmarks 
we wish to reach, and in our feeble way struggle 
toward them, well knowing that the great currents 
will bear us along : perhaps to our proposed ends, 
perhaps to absorb us in its own essence. 

... 1 look off on the ocean and think of it as the 
emblem of that great unknown and untraversed sea 
that we must all launch our boats on, sooner or later. 
But it would be a very pleasant thought if we knew 
that before doing this one might live out one's idea 
of life. Mine is, and always has been, so distinct 
and so unlike the actual life, and so different from 
that of most other persons. I have always felt like 
those eagles which have been hatched in Central 
Park. They hop from one perch to another in those 

280 



Selections from 1ber Xettere 

little cages, their wings, tiiat were made to sweep 
the empyrean, folded uselessly by their sides, and 
their eyes that could face the sun, bounded in their 
vision to the limits of a few hundred feet. Now I 
must say good-by for this time ; so fly home, my 
eagle, and we will open our cage-doors and go forth 
together, you and your Anne. 

... I am reading now De Tocqueville's life and 
letters ; but am sorry to say I do not get much time 
for reading. How I would like to be able to study ! 
There is so much that I would like to know in science, 
in art, in history, in biography; so many noble people 
that I might be acquainted with in books, where 
their lives and thoughts are chronicled, if they are not 
often met in real life. But after it all, some people 
say, it comes to the same thing in the last analysis: 
a little carbon and a pailful of water. But the sense of 
life, and of intellectual life, in me is very strong and 
vivid, and claims its proper food, before it comes to 
that point. This is the only complaint 1 have to make 
of life : that circumstances, and physical inability on 
my part, prevent my wings from doing much more 
than flapping idly by my sides. 

. . . Take all the pleasure you can, my love, as you 
go along. The present we are sure of, and if we store 
up sweet memories, we are sure of the past, and of 
something pleasant in the future, — your hete noire; 
for you always see it through the present, or allow 
it to steal the present from your sight. 

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nmc C. X. 3Botta 

... It is not the swiftness of time that disturbs me, 
but only the thought that it is so poorly filled up. 
I want its sands to be " diamonds as they pass," and 
they prove to be only very coarse desert sands. 

. . . The summer is passing away so rapidly, and 
our summers, mine at least, are getting so few ; but I 
do not mind that ; I only want to make the most of 
them, to employ and enjoy them to the best advan- 
tage. If 1 could only stop longing and aspiring for 
that which it is not in my power to attain, but is only 
just near enough to keep me always running after it, 
like the donkey that followed an ear of corn which 
was tied fast to a stick ! But now 1 must stop short 
in my reflections. Perhaps, if you should be detained 
in Italy until the winter, 1 might join you there. How 
I would enjoy it ! You Europeans can never know 
what a charm the Old World has for us, who have no 
antiquity, no romance, and so short a history (though 
in every other respect the greatest people the world 
ever saw); and for one like me, who loves history, 
poetry, and art so much more than anything be- 
sides, and who lives only in that atmosphere, and 
merely vegetates in all others, it is indescribably 
delightful. 

I look forward with much pleasure to the sometime 
when I hope to enjoy it all with you. 

. . . You know, my dear, that we can die only 
once ; that death is only a swallowing up of our poor 

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Sclccttons trom Ibcr Xetters 

individuality in tiie great ocean of being ; and that 
life, while we have our small "pipes" in commu- 
nication with this ocean, is full of variety, emotion, 
sensation, joy, pain, and pleasure. So let us dash on 
with it, enjoying what we can, bearing what is to be 
borne, and meeting the close of it all, which at the 
farthest cannot be far off, with heroism and calmness. 
Death may come to us any moment ; or to those 
whom we love, which is worse. My desire is to 
live for your sake more than for my own. And 
while we both are as well as we are now, what is 
the use of looking forward and fearing something 
which may never happen ? 

My dearest one, I could go on preaching through 
another sheet ; but, as you know, I have always to 
turn the crank to my own organ ; so 1 will stop 
here. . . . 

. . . The time is passing away very fast, even 
here ; and between reading and modeling I am very 
busy. I have just finished reading the third volume 
of the " Dutch Republic," making in all about sixteen 
hundred pages in less than three weeks. It is ex- 
tremely interesting and brilliant, and 1 have learned a 
great deal in reading it. 1 have now just begun one 
of Scott's novels. Now that 1 have a little real lei- 
sure, 1 am overwhelmed with the number of books I 
want to read. 

. . . Mr. V came to see me yesterday. I met 

him at Goupil's, and had a very pleasant talk with 

283 



Bnne C. X. 3Botta 

him ; he called to finish the conversation. You know 
he is an artist, and paints extremely well. 1 showed 
him my two busts, and he was delighted at the 
power he said they evinced. He praised them more 
than (with my modesty, which you know is so great) 
1 dare to repeat ; and exhorted me by all means to 
give up every other pursuit and devote myself to this 
art. He was sure that I could distinguish myself and 
do honor to the sex even now. 1 do not care so 
much for these last results ; but if 1 could give ex- 
pression to the love and idea of beauty that is in my 
soul, I should be happy. 

... I have been reading in the "Journal of Specu- 
lative Philosophy" an article by Schopenhauer on Im- 
mortality. Did you read it? He says, "That which 
cries out, ' I, 1 myself wish to exist ! ' is not yourself 
alone, but all that has the least vestige of conscious- 
ness. Hence this desire of ours is just that which is 
not individual, but common to all without exception ; 
it does not originate in individuality, but in the very 
nature of existence itself. It is essential to anybody 
who lives ; nay, it is that through which all conscious 
individuality exists. It seems to belong only to the 
individual, because it can only become conscious in 
the individual. What cries so loud in us for exis- 
tence, does so only through the mediation of the indi- 
vidual ; immediately and essentially it is the will to 
exist, or to live, and this will is one and the same in 
all of us." 

I cannot follow the argument. Our own essence 



Selections fi*om Ibex Xetters 

is this universal will to live. Individuality is a re- 
striction to be got rid of. 1 always said so ! But the 
day is cloudy, and so you will say is Schopenhauer, 
as manifested through this medium. . . . 

I am always with you in spirit, and hope you will 
soon return to your own Anne. 



TO MISS N. w. 

New-York, March 25, 1867. 

My dear little Friend ; ... I am deeply interested 
in you because you are young, and youth has such 
splendid possibilities for the future. If you only 
knew it, you would avoid all our mistakes. 

Some years ago, in order to remedy one of the 
mistakes or deficiencies in my own education, I 
compiled the volume which I send and beg you to 
accept, from about seventy of the best works 1 could 
find on the literatures of different countries. It was 
so useful to me that I published it for the benefit of 
other learners. You are yet too young, perhaps, to 
care much about the subjects of which it treats ; but 
you will soon wish to know something of the works 
which make nations great, and of their great writers, 
and 1 am sure this book will assist you. If you will 
provide yourself with a blank book and each day 
select and transcribe a few lines from each author 
named, or from the most prominent ones, at the end 
of a year you will find yourself familiar with all the 
great writers of the world, or with their names and 



Bnne C. 3L. JSotta 

the character of their works. Translations from 
them all are easily accessible, and if at any time you 
need any assistance or suggestion, if you will write 
to me, I shall be most happy to aid you. 

With my best wishes. 1 am sincerely your friend, 

Anne C. L. Botta. 



TO THE HON. L. M.. OF LONDON. 

New-York, November 15, 1870. 

My dear Sir : 1 wish to thank you, in my own 
name and in that of the friends who were with me 
last evening, for the noble thoughts you expressed, 
the wise and friendly counsels you gave us. 

We need very much many things that you of 
the Old World can give us, and 1 am sure that if 
the English and American people could see more 
of each other, the effect on both would be most 
salutary. However we may fall short of our ideal, 
we have one ; and 1 believe that nations and indi- 
viduals who have an ideal can never become wholly 
degenerate. 

The political corruption among our public men, 
odious and disheartening as it is, after all is confined 
to the few. The great masses of our people are 
not unprincipled and venal, however neglectful 
they apparently may be of the public good. And 
when our officials reach a certain lower depth, they 
will be overthrown, as you told us they had been in 
England. 

286 



Selections from 1bcv Xetters 

The recuperative powers of humanity under the 
conditions that our country offers are wonderful. 
During the winter that followed the election of Lin- 
coln, when the South was seceding from the Union, 
State after State, and there seemed to be no power 
to prevent the disintegration of the country, the 
feeling that our nationality was destroyed became 
universal. Politicians were aghast and powerless ; 
patriots and wise men believed that the States would 
become independent, and New-York a free city. (By 
the way, I am sure it was the general tone of the 
people and the press that so misled England.) But 
when the flag was fired upon at Fort Sumter, the 
great heart of the nation was electrified into life, 
into a new life ; the crumbling elements of nation- 
ality crystallized and took permanent form ; and the 
abstract sentiment of patriotism became vital and 
active. Since then, like you, we do not despair of 
the Republic. 

But while we admit that our institutions have much 
unsound fruit, our apple-trees have done better for 
us, and I hope you will not think it a liberty if I 
send you, as 1 do with this note, a box containing 
some Newtown pippins, which 1 am told bear ex- 
portation better than any other variety. And since 
you are interested in education, I send also a little 
book which I have compiled from various sources 
in order to give young persons a bird's-eye view of 
the great field of literature, and a hint of the treasures 
it contains. 

We shall be delighted to see you here again, and 
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Bnne C. %. 3Botta 

let me hope that you will bring some of the ladies of 
your family with you. 

Wishing you a pleasant voyage on the part of Mr. 
Botta as well as myself, I am, dear sir, very truly yours, 

Anne C. L. Botta. 



TO MR. ANDREW D. WHITE. 

New-York, November 4, 1864. 

My dear Sir: A friend in Boston has sent me a 
copy of your "Outlines of a Course of Lectures on His- 
tory," the reading of which has afforded me a degree 
of pleasure that must be my excuse for the liberty I 
take in writing to you, and for expressing the hope 
that the lectures themselves will not long remain 
hidden in manuscript. 

We have valuable special histories, but no general 
history that 1 know of, of such vast scope and able 
generalization as that of which your comprehensive 
analysis must form the basis. Such a work — which 
in its complete form would include the Oriental, 
Egyptian, and Grecian civilizations, as well as the best, 
and in my opinion the grandest, development of hu- 
manity in our own country, — would be a literary 
monument worthy of the nineteenth century. And 
to produce such a work especially at this time would 
be one of the highest efforts of patriotism. Our 
people have "builded better than they knew," and 
they have accepted our free institutions as they accept 



Sclcctione from Iber Xetters 

the sunshine and the air, without knowing what it has 
cost the race to attain such a condition of freedom. 
In general, they are not only ignorant of the great 
facts and significance of history, but they are un- 
acquainted with the method of studying them. Special 
histories, however elaborate and complete in them- 
selves, must from this nature be fragments of the 
great whole. An artist can never comprehend the 
grandeur of a vast cathedral by the minute study of 
its detached arches and columns. The structure 
must be first seen as a whole ; and so, it seems to 
me, we should contemplate history, — first, in its 
unity; then, in its details. 

To lift the veil from the past, and rehearse to the 
American people the grand drama of the ages, to in- 
terpret to them the significance, the importance, and 
the dignity of the role they are to perform in it, — 
that they may not play their parts as the daughters 
of Milton read the Greek poets, without any in- 
telligence of their meaning, — would be a great and 
noble work. And without pretending to be a sibyl 
or even a medium, 1 feel inspired to predict that you 
are to be the author of such a work, and that a 
brilliant future lies before you. 1 am glad to hear that 
you are still young. Our young country requires 
for its highest expression the ardor and enthusiasm 
which rarely survives the meridian of life. 

It was my wish to have spoken of some plans of 
my own relative to a school history, and to have 
asked your suggestions and counsel. But my letter 



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Bnne C. X. JSotta 

is already too long. 1 will only ask your acceptance 
of a copy of a " Handbook of Universal Literature," 
which 1 have prepared for popular reading, and in 
which I have aimed to give to the history of literature 
in an elementary form, that unity which seems to me 
so desirable in all history. 

Very respectfully yours, 

Anne C. L. Botta. 



New-York, November 5, 1884. 

... I have just laid down your speech before the 
German Society, after reading it with very great plea- 
sure and at a most opportune moment, — when as- 
surances that all is not scum in the cauldron, but that 
below there is noble endeavor and earnest purpose, 
are so much needed. Of late we must admit that 
the scum has fearfully predominated. 

I have not yet really begun the *' History," for I 
find it difficult to get the books 1 need. When they 
are owned by the libraries, they are always out. I am, 
however, looking over what I can find of the "Philos- 
ophy of history," and would like you to suggest any 
work that you think would be of use. Just now I 
am reading "An Inquiry into the Theories of His- 
tory," by Adams, which 1 find interesting, but too 
argumentative. I would like to set forth in a few 
pages the most conclusive or probable theory or 
theories on the scope or meaning of this great 
drama that the human race has been performing 
for thousands of years, and what the probable ten- 

290 



Selections from 1ber letters 

dency is ; or showing that it is toward a higher 
development. 

I think that the grouping together of the great 
events in the history of each nation in chronologi- 
cal order, preceded by a summary of the significance 
of it all, would be interesting and popular. 

So few, except scholars like yourself, have time to 
gather all these materials together. If you could 
spare me one of those small condensed works of 
which you spoke to me, 1 would return it in a very 
few days. 

A. C. L. B. 

Paris, October 21, 1887. 

. . . Although we are leaving Paris to-morrow 
morning and I am very busy, 1 feel impelled to write 
you just a few lines on this sad anniversary. 

You have now sounded the depths of your sorrow 
and despair ; but in these depths you must not linger. 
" Stand where you are" was Goethe's translation of 
Archimedes' fulcrum for lifting up the earth. See 
what you can do in the blank future before you. 
There are two great principles that we must adopt 
and live up to as far as possible if we would have life 
endurable, — one, that all is wisely and well ordered ; 
and the other, that we accept it. When Carlyle 
shouted in derision at Margaret Fuller when she said 
that she accepted the universe, he expressed the sum 
and substance of Froude's biography of him. He ac- 
cepted nothing, but was at war with himself and with 
everything around him. ** Learn to bear the cross," 

291 



Bnnc C. X. JBotta 

says Thomas a Kempis. " and it will soon bear thee ; 
but if thou resist it, it becomes an intolerable burden." 

Death and old age await us all, and this world is 
not such a beautiful place that we should wish always 
to stay here, if we could. Happiness is certainly not 
the end of existence ; but struggle, evolution, dis- 
appointment seem to be. But of happiness have 
you not had a larger share than most men ? Thirty 
years of wedded life with one of the purest, most 
beautiful and lovely of women is an experience that 
falls to the lot of few. That she left you without a 
moment's warning seems to me to be the most 
desirable end : no lingering disease, no agonizing 
pain ; but passing away like a dream, in the fullness 
of life and beauty, without even on her part the 
agony of separation. 1 can only say. may my end 
be like hers. 

Think of Longfellow, who saw his wife burning to 

death before him ; of Mrs. P suffering for nearly 

three years pain like a dagger in her heart. You are 
bereft, indeed ; but you have yet something left. You 
have children who love you ; you have not to toil 
for your daily bread ; you have a knowledge of the 
past, — that, as Sir Thomas Browne says, ' ' makes you 
as old as the world." Yet you are in the prime of 
manhood, with fair health, and there is much for you 
to do. Do not, I beg of you, let the past be a tomb 
in which you bury yourself; she would not wish it, 
1 know, if she could speak. — she would rather be a 
beautiful memory that will be always with you, that 



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Selections from t>ec Xetters 

"age cannot wither." Rejoice in the past, and cour- 
ageously face the drear future. I spare you any fur- 
ther words, but 1 felt that 1 must say as much as I 
have : because having, as I said, reached the depth of 
your despair, you must turn away from it as far as 
possible, and give yourself to regarding it in other 
aspects. 

With deep sympathy from us both, and hoping 
soon to see you, 1 am always sincerely yours, 

A. C. L. B = 

November 24, 1888. 

, . . Let me ask you, my dear friend, why you 
continue to give yourself up to the keeping of all 
these sad anniversaries ? You have descended to the 
very depths of your sorrow ; why indulge yourself in 
brooding over it, in cherishing it, and in holding 
yourself always there? Without any disloyalty to 
the dear one, you owe it to yourself and to her 
memory to be "up and doing," and, above all, to 
accept the burden that has been laid on you, and to 
bear it with heroism and with resignation. 

You see I cannot help preaching, do what 1 will ; 
but even that you by this time have learned to bear. 

A. C. L. B. 

December 26, 1888. 

... Do not think that 1 really meant to find fault 
with you in my last letter, or to reproach you in any 
way. 1 know that you are making a desperate struggle 



293 



Bnne C. X. asotta 

to keep up, and doing all that man can do under the 
circumstances. While 1 preach courage, occupation, 
and all that, perhaps you will scarcely believe that 1 
have, ever since 1 grew up, been subject to attacks of 
depression that, while they lasted, made life almost 
unendurable. A sudden realization of the emptiness, 
shortness, nothingness of life comes over me ; such, 
as I am persuaded, it is not in the plan of creation that 
human beings should have. And then 1 need preach- 
ing to, and praying for, badly. As people are said to 
whistle sometimes to keep their courage up, so, per- 
haps, they sometimes preach. 

A. C. L. B. 

December -ji , i888. 

. . . While in Rome we were taken to the studio 
of Monteverde, where we saw a most beautiful mon- 
ument : a recumbent figure with an angel bending 
over it. 1 have never seen anything of the kind to 
compare with it. 1 would have liked very much to 
have a photograph of it; but I learned that some 
American, who liked the work very much and pre- 
tended that he would order a copy of it. obtained a 
photograph from the artist, sent it to Carrara and 
had it copied ; so I did not like to ask for one, lest 1 
should be ranked with my thrifty countryman. What 
sad news about the Crown Prince ! You who know 
him so well must feel it deeply, when even strangers 
who never saw him find the case so pathetic. 

A. C. L. B. 



J94 



Selections from t>ec Xettera 



TO MR. J. M. 

July 31, 187s. 

My dear Friend : Referring to our conversation of 
a few days since, I send you the copy of a letter writ- 
ten one hundred years ago by Mrs. Samuel Gray, of 
Windham, Conn., to her son, Lieutenant-Colonel 
Ebenezer Gray, who was my grandfather. At that 
time he was serving in the Revolutionary Army near 
Boston, Mass., and this letter shows the patriotism, 
heroic courage, and religious faith of the women at 
that period. It also shows that 1 come directly from a 
race which filled a prominent place in the establish- 
ment of our national independence. Of this, indeed, 
I am very proud. 

A. C. L. B. 

Windham, Conn., July 31, a. d. 1775. 
Dear Child: \ this morning heard that Mr. Trumbull, who 
passed through town in haste last evening, said that you are pre- 
paring to meet the enemy, or to drive them from their new-begun 
intrenchments. I could not hear it without some emotion of soul, 
although I firmly believe that God is able to deliver, and will 
deliver, us out of the hands of these unnatural enemies in his own 
time. Our cause is just, i don't doubt ; and Cod in his holy 
and righteous providence has called you there to defend our just 
rights and privileges. I would commit you into the hands of a 
Just and merciful God, who alone is able to defend you. Con- 
fessing my utter unworthiness of the least mercy, 1 would trust 
in unmerited mercy through Jesus Christ, for all that strength, 
courage, and fortitude that you stand in need of in the business 
he is calling you to. Trust in the Lord and be of good courage; 
the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear him, upon them that 
hope in his mercy. Confess your sins daily before the Lord and 

295 



nunc d. X. JSotta 

forsake every evil way ; walk in all the Commandments of the 
Lord. Be careful to set a good example before those that are 
under you, especially in observing the Sabbath. The surest way 
of conquering our enemies is to turn from every evil way and 
seek the Lord with all our hearts with confession of our sins. 
I am more afeared of our sins than all the forces of our enemy. 
As to profane swearing, which is very common in camps, 1 
always thought you were not inclined to, and I trust you will 
take all possible care to prevent it in those that fall under your 
care. 

I think we have abundant reason to praise tlie name of the 
Lord for his wonderful assistance and deliverances our people have 
e.xperienced at one time and another, especially at Bunker's Hill. 
Well may we say, had it not been the Lord who was on our 
side, when such a number of troops rose up and surrounded our 
people, then they had sw.allowed us up quick when their wrath 
was kindled against us. These merciful assurances of God for 
us ought to encourage us to call upon God, and strengthen our 
faith in him. That you may put your trust in God, and go on 
with courage and ibrtitude to whatever work or business you 
may be called to, is the sincere prayer of your loving mother, 

Lydia Gray. 



TO MR. EMERSON. 

New-York, April 13, 180S. 

Dear Mr. Emerson : I have delayed acknowledging 
your letter of February 24th and the very excellent 
photograph which accompanied it. hoping that 1 
might see Edward on his return ; 1 was so unfortun- 
ate as to miss him when he passed through here. 

1 thank you very much for the picture ; it seems 
to me to convey a better idea of the •' real presence " 



296 



Selections from Iber Xctters 

th:in any I have seen of you. The other which you 
promise 1 shall hope you will bring when you make 
to me the long-expected visit. Now, 1 am afraid if 1 
say anything about this visit you will think me im- 
portunate, and perhaps 1 am. But life seems to me so 
short, the terminus so near at hand, great and noble 
souls so rare, that 1 would crowd into this remnant 
of existence that is left, all the beautiful experiences 
that 1 can lay hold of. 1 have heard the admonition 
of the poet : 

To take in sail, — 

Contract thy firmament 

To compass of a tent ; 

Economize the failing river ; 

Leave the many, and hold the few ; 

Soften the fail with wary foot, 

and 1 am seeking only to carry out his thoughts. Let 

me say, then, once for all, that whenever the curtain 

of my "tent" is lifted for you to enter, there comes 

and always will come with you the most serene and 

beautiful influences. And so you will not wonder 

that 1 always wish you to come. 

1 know well how little there is in this great city 

with its too material life to attract you from your 

home and your study, and how little 1 have to offer 

you : only the consciousness that 1 have aspired 

without attaining. But if, as some one says, "our 

despair is the measure of our aspirations," mine have 

been great indeed. 

A. C. L. B. 



297 



2lnne C. X. JBotta 



TO MR. JAMES A. FROUDE, LONDON. 

New-York, October i6, 1873. 

My dear Mr. Froude : It is just one year ago to-day 
that I first met you here, and I celebrate the anniver- 
sary by indulging myself in the pleasure of writing to 
you, a pleasure I have postponed from day to day for 
a long time, partly from the many distractions I am 
always subjected to, partly too, perhaps, from the 
desire to have something so pleasant in anticipation; 
for as soon as my letter is mailed, it will be such a 
long time before the reply will come to give me the 
opportunity of writing again. To me there is a 
great charm in having friends on the other side of 
the Atlantic ; the enchantment of distance gives such 
scope to the imagination ; and then getting letters 
is like receiving "communications" from the other 
world. I have observed that all believers in spirit- 
ualism are the happiest of people, and 1 suppose it is 
that their relations with the invisible world lift them 
out of the press and weariness of every-day life. . . . 

We are delighted to hear that you so far favor pil- 
grimages that in another year you will make one to 
the shrine of St. Jonathan : he goes on working mir- 
acles, sometimes in the name of the powers of light 
and sometimes in that of the powers of darkness, — 
but so that it is no wonder that you in the Old World 
cannot tell which. As I think that everything works 
together for good, I do not fear the result. Besides 
the pilgrimage, 1 see that some of your clergy are ad- 

298 



Selections from t)er Xettere 

vocating a return to the confessional. Sometimes I 
think that this institution is founded on some great 
necessity of the human soul for the expression of 
what is deepest in it, to some higher intelligence 
capable of understanding its needs, aspirations, and 
doubts. If the priest was always the really superior 
being he claims to be, living in an atmosphere so far 
removed from earth as to be above the line of per- 
petual congelation, I should for myself think it a 
privilege to confess ; but, as it is, we must wait for 
a new order of beings. One of our poets says 
we carry about within us unwritten and unspoken 
tragedies : 

We are spirits clad in veils ; 
Heart by heart was never seen ; 
All our deep communion fails 
To remove the shadowy screen ; 

and this isolation alone would make religions a ne- 
cessity, especially for women. Men, being made of 
sterner stuff, may perhaps do without it ; but we 
never can. 

Since our return to the city there has been a great 
deal going on in New-York. We have had two great 
opera companies, with Lucca, Nilsson, and hosts of 
other celebrities; Salvini, the Italian actor, perhaps the 
greatest living performer; the Evangelical Alliance, in 
session for ten days with delegates from every part of 
the world ; followed by the Free Religious Con- 
vention, the Woman's Suffrage Association, with 
lectures of more or less note, and others that fill up 

299 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

the interstices ; and, above all this, a great financial 
crisis which has shaken Wall street to its founda- 
tions, ruined very many people, though no one 
among my immediate acquaintances. In all the 
rushing and surging of the elements that go to make 
up the young and vigorous life of this country, 1 often 
long for the repose of an older civilization. 1 am sure 
I should enjoy nothing so much as to spend a year or 
two abroad, — provided you were not to get up a 
revolution in England, and provided France, Italy, 
and Germany were bound to keep the peace. . . . 
Believe me, very sincerely yours, 

A. C. L. BOTTA. 

February i8, 1874. 

My dear Mr. Froude : The telegraph of Sunday 
brought to us the news of your great loss, and 1 am 
unwilling to let a steamer cross the Atlantic without 
carrying to you some expression of our sympathy. 
Death has come so near to me within the last few 
weeks that 1 have a keener sense of your bereavement 
than I could otherwise have had. My mother, it is 
true, had outlived her family and friends and her in- 
terest in everything except her affection for me ; and 
I could not have desired to prolong her life, if it had 
been in my power to do so. But in parting with her, 
it seems that a portion of my life has been sent away, 
and an overwhelming sense of loss all the while op- 
presses me. I can well understand, then, what you 
suffer in the losing of your companion, friend, and 
wife, in the prime of womanhood and without warn- 

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Selections from 1ber letters 

ing ; for doubtless the event must have been very 
sudden. If I have read you aright, you, like all men 
of the finest type, have especial need of all the care 
and devotion that you have enjoyed. Women have 
so much to suffer in this world, and have so much 
more endurance than men, that, weak as they may 
be in some respects, they are yet strong enough to 
support and sustain them. But, bereft as you are 
now of your sweet consoler, do not, I pray you, 
curse God and die. " Despair is equally opposed 
to religion and to science," as Thomas a Kempis 
says. ' ' The cross is always ready for thee, and every- 
where waits for thee ; thou canst not escape it ; but 
if thou bear it cheerfully, it will bear thee, and lead 
thee to thy desired end. If thou bear it unwillingly, 
thou makest for thyself a new burden and increaseth 
thy load ; and yet, notwithstanding, thou must bear 
it." This is all true in a philosophical as in a re- 
ligious sense. . . , 

I am, very sincerely yours, A. C. L. B. 



March 28, 1874. 

My dear Mr. Fronde: On coming home from my 
walk, a day or two since, under a sky that had in it 
more of the last of November than of the first of 
April, 1 experienced the effect of a genial burst of 
sunshine in the shape of your letter of the sixth. 

I can never quite get over a certain surprise when, 
after dropping my missive in the ugly iron box at 
the street corner, in a few days the reply comes back 
301 



3lnne C. X. JBotta 

to me, across ocean and continent; or without feeling 
that the civilization that has given us the postal ser- 
vice ought not to be despised. But the telegraph is 
the miracle of the age. That you can sit in your study 
in London, and I here in mine, and carry on a con- 
versation limited only by our pounds, shillings, and 
pence to pay for the privilege ; that the message 
which goes down to the depths of the Atlantic's un- 
explored water, reaches you almost as soon as if 
spoken across the table. — this puts necromancy in 
the shade. Since you were here we have the district 
telegraph, which signals for a messenger, a policeman, 
or a fire-extinguisher. We have had it brought into 
our house. On a bracket at the head of my bed 
stands a little instrument like a very small clock, con- 
nected with a wire which enters the upper story from 
the neighboring station. The other day, wishing a 
messenger, 1 touched the spring, and by the time I 
reached the bottom of the stairs two men. out of 
breath, were at the door to see what was the matter ; 
it being my first experience, 1 had made a mistake 
and telegraphed for the police. 1 think that progress 
in the useful arts will be wonderful even in the im- 
mediate future, and 1 almost wish that I or my ghost 
could be here to see. 

Carlyle wrote to Mr. B. some time since, and spoke 
of you, and of meeting you three or four days in the 
week to take a long walk together. When 1 read it, I 
was very envious of you, and of Carlyle too. I hope 
that when you reach your study you at once transcribe 
the conversation. If you have not done so, pray begin 

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Selections from Iber Xetters 

at once, and send the notes to me in your next letter. 
It is too bad that all light elicited by the contact of 
two such minds should die out on the spot. 

1 have no great faith in our good B in his 

role of prophet, and yet I do believe that the world 
is tending toward democratic institutions, and that 
the war of classes that you in England are drifting 
into, is one proof of the approaching struggle. If 
England is upset by it, she will doubtless rise again, 
reconstructed and filled with new life, perhaps, as 
we have been since our war. 

We all help the Great Master to carry out his pur- 
poses, whether we will or not. But the creature 
man is possessed of such unlimited conceit that he 
cannot believe that he is doing otherwise than carry- 
ing out his own. If he would remember that his 
birth, his death, his nationality, his moral and re- 
ligious nature, and every event of his life that deter- 
mines his destiny, is entirely out of his power, even 
in his own body — his assimilation, circulation, res- 
piration, he has nothing whatever to do with — he 
would find the limit of free will narrowed down. But 
it is not in the plan of creation thus far developed that 
we should know ourselves just as we are, and this 
being the case, of course it is best that it should be so. 
I am very truly yours, A. C. L. B. 



New-Yokk, October 28, 1875. 

My dear Mr. Fronde: Our beautiful Indian summer 
has come again with its hazy skies, its warm winds, 

303 



%n\\c C. %. JBotta 

and its many-colored woods, bringing with it pleasant 
memories of you, as it always has done ever since 
that bright October morning when you came to 
breakfast with us, and we saw you for the first time. 
And yet these thoughts are not altogether pleasant 
when 1 remember how long it is since we have heard 
a word from you. To this complaint you will per- 
haps answer that a chance acquaintance that has sur- 
vived the interchange of half-a-dozen letters has lived 
out its appointed time, and come naturally to an end. 
Then I shall say that since life is so short and so poor 
and arid, the persons 1 admire and like so few and so 
rarely met with, that when 1 do find them 1 am not 
going to give them up without a struggle; hence this 
letter and "then tears." 

If I live to be as old as the patriarchs, I shall never 
outgrow this necessity for friendship, than which, 
says Cicero, "there is nothing in the world more 
excellent." You remember Emerson's charming es- 
say on the same subject; since, then, 1 have Emerson 
and Cicero on my side, do not set me down as a sen- 
timentalist, but, instead of that, take your pen and 
paper at once and write me a long, charming letter, 
as you know so well how to do : all about every 
thing in public affairs, in science, and in religion. 
The great undercurrent of thought rolls along, and it 
is extraordinary to see what silent evolutions follow 
the allusions of poetry to the phenomena of nature. 
"So science applies the scalpel even to poetry," as 
Emerson says in a letter to me. 

I have just been reading with great interest your 
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Selectton6 from Iber Xcttcre 

essay on Spinoza. His doctrines have a great fasci- 
nation for me ; for I owe to them, and other similar 
works, whatever of peace and repose I may enjoy. 
" We cannot fear when nothing can befall us except 
what God wishes, and we shall not violently hope 
when the future, whatever it be, will be the best 
which is possible." . . . 

Believe me, sincerely yours, A. C. L. B. 



New- York, , 1878. 

My dear Mr. Fronde: 1 do not share your fear of the 
spread of Catholicism in the country. Perhaps be- 
cause I do not fear anything. As for going over to 
the Catholic Church, I am in one sense already over, 
since 1 was baptized in it as an infant, to gratify some 
friends of my father. When I reach my second 
childhood, 1 cannot now say what 1 shall do; but in 
the present condition of my mental faculties, while 
I can study nature, which Goethe calls " The freshly 
uttered word of God," and while I can observe, even 
as imperfectly as I do, the wonderful developments 
of modern science, there is little danger of my turn- 
ing back to the cloisters of the middle ages, or to the 
childish superstitions that have come down from 
them. You, surely, are the priest of a new religion, 
though you may not know it. I think with you that 
we should not grudge to our fellow-creatures any be- 
lief in which they find consolation and hope. We 
all have our illusions of one kind or another ; life 
would be impossible without them, though they may 

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anne C. X. JBotta 

not relate to the Virgin Mary, or to the views of 
Moody and Sankey, or to so-called religious people 
who, feeling sure of an eternity beyond this life, and 
of preserving their very insignificant personal ties all 
through it, can afford to do many things that those 
who have their doubts about it cannot — as posses- 
sors of fortunes may squander their great wealth in 
a way that would be ruin to those of more limited 
means. I am thinking more particularly of our 
friends and our domestic and social relations. You 
have said the same thing, 1 am sure. 1 need not tell 
you that 1 am acting up to my creed ; that, being ab- 
solutely certain of the present only, I am making the 
most of my friends here, without waiting for that 
future life which, if it comes at all, will doubtless 
bring with it new thoughts, emotions, and affections. 
To prove that 1 am in earnest in your case at least, 
I forbear to spin my letter out to another page. 

Always sincerely yours, A. C. L. B. 



EXTRACT FROM A LETTER TO MISS A. 

New-York, October 4, 1889. 

. . . Whenever you have any occupation or pur- 
suit which you dream of at night, it is an evidence 
that you are overdoing. The fact that you see skel- 
etons and dead-heads in your sleep is a warning that 
Nature kindly gives you to let them alone for a while. 
Do not be so foolish as to slight it. The penalties 

306 



Selections from Iber Xcttera 

she exacts for disobedience of her laws are fearful — 
far more so than the penalties attached to the vio- 
lation of human laws. Do not be so unwise as to 
defy them : 

She knows not wrath nor pardon ; 

Utter true her measures mete, 
Her faultless balance weighs,— 

Times are as nought, to-morrow she will judge 
Or after many days. . . . 

A. C. L. B. 



TO MRS. B. C. 

New-York, June 6, 1889. 

My dear Friend: I am slowly preparing for our 
departure. It is extraordinary how many details go 
to make up life, and how complicated it has become. 
I look back to our ancestors who lived in trees, ac- 
cording to the new dispensation, and wore their 
furs all the year round, with positive envy. No 
house-cleaning or cooking, no summer outfit, no 
misfit, no misfortune. . . . 

Always most affectionately yours, 

A. C. L. B. 



TO MLLE. BADER, PARIS, FRANCE. 

New-York, April 27, 1883. 

. , . We who live in this Babel of New-York need 
the rest of a sea-voyage and the repose of the Old 
World for a season every year. You can have no 

307 



annc C. X. asotta 

idea of the pressure under which we all live here. 
An Englishman has lately said of us that "we all 
seemed to have been born an hour too late, and were 
each trying to overtake that hour or to make up 
for it." I enjoy the practice of this art of sculpture 
more than any other occupation ; and if I could live 
in a studio for the rest of my days, engaged in it, 
I should be content. But I take my rest on modeling. 

A. C. L. BOTTA. 

Paris, October 20, 1887. 

My dear Friend : Passing the flower market this 
morning, I selected two or three plants which 1 shall 
like to think of as adorning your studio: one to 
stand in your window, another to bloom on your 
table, and a palm for victory, though I believe it is 
also the emblem of martyrdom. But, whatever may 
be its significance, it is evergreen and has a root ; and 
may I not hope that it will be, in this regard, emblem- 
atic of a lasting friendship between us, which has 
thus so happily begun ? 

A. C. L. B. 



TO MRS. STEBBINS-THOMPSON. 

New-York, December, 1888. 

Dear Mrs. Thompson : Few of us in New-York can 
deny that we live in a high state of nervous tension, 
fulfilling literally the injunction to do with all our 
might what our hands find to do, and always finding 

308 



Selections from IF^er Xetters 

far more to do than we can possibly accomplish. This 
chronic constriction of the nerves, never relaxed, in- 
volves such an expenditure of vital force as often pre- 
cludes the possibility of rest, which is found only by 
going to Florida or to Europe, to Lakewood or to 
Weir Mitchell. For this condition the system of Del- 
sarte offers a remedy, as you have shown, by teaching 
how to rest, how to train the nerves not less than the 
muscles as a necessary part of physical culture, how 
to move and act with the greatest economy of force, 
without wasting the vital powers in superfluous 
action as we all do : teaching, in short, both repose 
and action, relaxation and concentration, and that 
command of reserved force so essential in character 
as well as in all the arts. In these particulars the 
splendid system formulated by Delsarte can be studied 
by every one, old or young. In its wider and more 
general application to the young, the education of two 
or three generations in these great principles would 
do away entirely with round shoulders, hollow chests, 
and spinal curvatures, now so common, and, I fully 
believe, would produce a race which in beauty of 
form and expression would compare favorably with 
those antique statues whose forms and attitudes you 
can so beautifully represent. 1 am happy to tell you 
that I have formed a class to meet here twice a week, 
on such days as will be convenient for you to give 
the lessons. 

Sincerely yours, Anne C. L. Botta. 



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Bnnc G. %. JlSotta 



A LETTER TO MR. JOHN BIGELOW. 

New-York, January 8, 1877. 

My dear Mr. Bigelow : Inclosed you will find a 
copy of my sonnet " Accordance," on which 1 should 
like your criticism. While 1 may be somewhat doubt- 
ful of the poetry of the sonnet, 1 am perfectly sure as 
to the doctrine, which is to me a source of great se- 
renity of mind. Every day's experience proves to 
me that we have only to do " the duty that lies near- 
est to us " and the result must be good, though we 
may not see it at once, or may never see it ; and this 
conviction takes the edge, however keen it may be, 
from all disappointments and annoyances. 

The idea I strived to express is as follows : As he 
who plays the cathedral organ hears only a roar, yet, 
secure in the motive of the composer and in the laws 
of harmony, knows that the psalm or hymn is heard 
throughout the building, so he who on the chords 
of life plays the score of duty and love knows that 
far beyond the present noise and strife these notes 
must accord, though he may not hear ; or, in other 
words, the performer on the organ does not hear his 
own music though he knows that he makes the 
music ; and the man who does his duty does see 
the good results or may not see them, though he 
knows that in accordance with moral laws they must 
inevitably be produced — this is the meaning. Let 
me know if you think I have expressed it with proper 
clearness and force. 

310 



Selections from Iber Xetters 

I am far from believing that obscurity is one of the 
beauties of style, either in poetry or prose. I do not 
enjoy the poetry that requires the same study as a 
mathematical problem. I have been reading the new 
poem of Matthew Arnold, " The New Sirens," and I 
confess that I can make nothing out of it but non- 
sensical versification. I have read it only once, how- 
ever ; perhaps by study 1 could better understand it. 
But as 1 do not propose to give any more time to it, I 
send it to you. You may, perhaps, see the drift of 
it. If you guess it, do let me know. 

Very truly yours, Anne C. L. Botta. 



EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS TO MRS. A. H. LEONOWENS. 

New-York. 

. . . H. H. — who is visiting us — is very enthusi- 
astic on the subject of the Indians and their wrongs, 
and has published several articles in the papers, which 
have made quite a stir and called out explanations from 
the Secretary of the Interior. There is a Ponca chief 
here, with *' Bright Eyes," his interpreter, and some 
others, in whom she has been deeply interested. I in- 
vited them last Monday to our house, and "Standing 
Bear," the chief, made a short speech. He wore a 
scarlet blanket and a dark-blue coat worked with 
beads, a very handsome eagle's feather in his hair, 
and a necklace of grizzly bears' claws about his neck. 
He is a sad, dignified old man, and everybody was in- 
terested in the story of his wrongs. We had about 

3" 



Bnnc C. X. asotta 

seventy people present, and the evening went otf 
very pleasantly. . . . 

My dear Friend: . . . The painful part of your 
letter is that in which you tell me that you will not 
come here to embark. There were so many things I 
had to say to you that 1 put off for this last or later 
meeting that must now remain unsaid, and I am sadly 
disappointed. You are the one of all others that I 
have the deepest sympathy with, and now we are to 
be yet f^irther separated. As you say, we are united 
in the eternal. If we would only keep that in mind, 
and ourselves " on the heights," life would become 
ideal. But strive and struggle as 1 will, I go stum- 
bling along, the light within often burning dimly 
or becoming quite extinguished. I seem to myself 
like some land animal dropped into the sea, struggling 
to keep its head above water, now and then finding 
dry land ; but a tidal wave breaks over it soon and 
swamps it back, drowning the floundering and striv- 
ing creature. The mystery of life grows deeper and 
darker to me everyday, and yet I know that it cannot 
be solved, and that it is the only wisdom to accept 
and not to question. 

. . . What a delight it would be if we could live 
near each other ! 1 am sure that there are very few 
who are intellectually and morally as near as we are, 
and yet " so near and yet so far" personally. As 
you say, we have been in close communion in some 
former existence, and let us hope that we may con- 

512 



Selections from Ibec Xetters 

tinue it in the next. Tiiere is a verse in the "Kindred 
Hearts " of Mrs. Hemans that is often in my mind : 

Oh! ask not, hope not thou too much 

Sympathy below : 
Few are the hearts whence one same touch 

Bids the sweet fountain flow, 
Few — and by still conflicting powers 

Forbidden here to meet — 
Such ties would make this life of ours 

Too fair for aught so fleet. 



While we have not been forbidden here to meet, we 
may not abide together ; and we will be grateful that 
we may still communicate even from a distance. Ac- 
customed as we are to all that civilization does for us, 
it is a strange experience to be suddenly deprived of 
much that it gives us. . . . 

. . . Yesterday 1 read a review of Mallock's new 
book, "Is Life Worth Living?" It seems to be a 
perfect jeremiad over the loss of faith, the growth of 
scientific materialism, etc., — the remedy for which 
evils he finds in a return to the bosom of the Catholic 
Church. Is it not strange and painful that in this age 
of progress there can be found no better solution of 
the great problems of life than this — to shut our eyes 
and go to sleep in the bosom of an ecclesiastical or- 
ganization made of men like ourselves, subject to all 
errors like ourselves, notwithstanding their claims to 
a supernatural power, wisdom, and infallibility .' 

3'3 



anne C. X. 36otta 

... I send you an interesting review of " Esoteric 
Buddhism," bySinnott. It is an interesting book : its 
fundamental idea is the progress of the human race. 
That man will advance as far beyond his present 
development as this is beyond his "Scimian pro- 
genitors," is what 1 have long believed; and this 
faith gives me consequent hope. If this were the 
best of us, I should be miserable indeed. 

A. C. L. BOTTA. 



3'4 



Selectlone from Xcttere to Ibcr. 



Selections from Xettere to Iben 



A LETTER OF MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. 

Hartford, Conn., December 27, 1836, 
Mj> dear Miss Lynch: I have heard nothing from you since 
your departure from Hartford, but cherish the hope that your 
situation is agreeable, and that the excellent motives which 
induced you to undertake the education of the young are re- 
warded by the exquisite pleasure of witnessing their improve- 
ment. I write now to say that I have consented to interest 
myself in a "Religious Souvenir," which was originally com- 
menced by the late Dr. Bedell, and that I should be happy to 
number a poem from your pen among its articles. I am 
pleased thus to convey to you my high opinion of the character 
of your writings, and also to point out an appropriate channel 
for their circulation, as the list of contributors to this Annual 
comprises some of our most gifted writers. 1 scarcely know 
whether you are fond of writing prose, but if you should find 
in the scenery of that beautiful island, or in the legendary lore 
of the ancient family who inhabit it, or if in your own imagina- 
tion there are materials for a religious tale of some ten pages, I 
think I can make room for it, and shall gladly insert it. What- 
ever is intended for the Souvenir must be sent by mail to the 
care of the publishers, who allow the remuneration of §2.00 a 
page. Trusting that you will favor us with the contribution 
as desired, believe me yours, with sincere regard, 

L. H. SiGOURNEY. 

3'7 



Bnne C. X. J0otta 



A LETTER OF MRS. LYDIA MARIA CHILD. 

Providence, R. I., 1839. 

Dear Miss Lynch : I thank you for your kind invitation to visit 
you, with Mr. Furness. If I ever went anywhere, I certainly 
should have come. But for ten years past I have made no 
visits and formed no new acquaintance. I am considered a 
very odd woman ; but my only oddity consists in an unaffected 
love of seclusion. I have not the smallest particle of social 
ambition. I would not take the trouble to go to two parties for 
the sake of obtaining the most flattering honors society could 
confer. It would, in fact, be taking what 1 do not want; for 1 
have the most sincere aversion to being conspicuous in any way. 
To this natural love of keeping out of sight, is added weariness 
of spirit. Life has been to me a hard battle, and 1 would fain 
rest by the wayside. I am careful to do injury to no one, by 
act or word; and I strive to do, in a noiseless way, as much 
good as my limited means will allow. From what I am told of 
your independent character, I think you will admit that 1 have 
an undoubted right to live in retirement, since the choice springs 
from no imagined superiority and no deficiency of kindly social 
feelings. 

The world has tried hard to fasten its fetters somehow upon 
me, but it is quite as much to the purpose to pour water on a 
duck's back. I wish well to everybody; I delight in beauty 
wherever I meet it; I am thankful I am poor; and I do not 
want a single thing that the world can either give or take away. 
With the most cordial wishes for your happiness, I am truly your 
friend, Lydia Maria Child. 



LETTERS OF MRS. BUTLER (faNNY KEMBLE). 

Philadelphia, Penn., 1845. 
Mjf dear Madame: I was at Mrs. Morrison's this morning, 
where I had the pleasure of reading some poetry of yours, for 

31S 



Selections from Xetters to Iber 

which I am much obliged, as all who read it worthily will be. 
It naturally suggested to me immediately the idea of how desir- 
able the society of the writer must be, if one could but obtain 
it; and with this, I confess, rather selfish motive, I venture, my 
dear madame, to ask you if you will not occasionally give me the 
favor of your company. 1 am at home almost every afternoon 
and evening, and if at any time your leisure and inclination stand 
so far, my friend, as to induce you to visit me, I shall consider 
myself fortunate in the opportunity of becoming better acquainted 
with you. 

I hope this will not appear to you a liberty, or that if it does 
you will excuse it in favor of the sincere interest and admiration 
with which 1 am, my dear madame, yours truly, 

Fanny Butler. 

Many thanks, dear Anne, for your book, over which I have 
been crying, sighing, and thinking — and every leaf of which, as 
I turned it, brought to my mind and lips these words, " God 
bless you." These gifts always seem to me to demand his most 
especial providence for those who own them. . . . 

Affectionately yours, Fanny Butler. 

Mj> dear /Inne : Thank you very much for the sonnet you 
have sent me ; its poetical merit is great, its moral value even 
greater ; and it is very comfortable to me, dear Anne, who am 
walking along a rough and thorny path and carrying at my heart 
the burden of an irreparable loss, which, however, 1 take it, is 
lighter than an evil deed. 

I am just now acting an engagement in London with Macready, 
I think very probably the last I shall perform in England; for I 
shall sail for the United States in the middle of July at the latest, 
and am much solicited to give readings from Shakespeare. I have 
even been urged to lecture upon his works, but am not bold 
enough for such an undertaking. Some years hence, perhaps, 
when 1 have thought and studied as carefully as 1 have now felt 
deeply over those wonderful productions, 1 may venture to bring 
my farthing rushlight to help the light of the sun. 

3'9 



Bnne C. %, JBotta 

The two years of labor I have chalked out for myself rather 
weigh upon my spirits. My Paradise by the Lake Fucino in 
the Abruzzi will have been fairly earned, if I dare say so, by all 
that 1 have gone through of misery, of bitterness, of disquiet, of 
irksome labor and most unrecognized effort, before reaching that 
haven of my rest, — to which 1 look, however, with constant 
hope, and a flattering thought that perhaps with peace and 
leisure I may yet achieve something worthy in those higher re- 
gions of intellect from which my theatrical career has perpetu- 
ally drawn me — exhausting and inspiring in some degree to 
those mental faculties, to which, nevertheless, it cannot give ade- 
quate scope or employment. God bless you, dear Anne, and if 
you can make use of me in any way, remember that you do me 
a service in asking one of me. 

1 am ever yours very affectionately, Fanny. 



LETTERS OF N. P. WILLIS, 

New- York, 1845. 

Dear Miss Lynch : . . . Poetry is a shadow over the heart 
that enables us to see to the bottom-like clouds cutting off the 
sunshine from a well. I now see the truth in the well of your 
heart, but 1 do not know as I dare tell you what it is like. You 
would be bound to deny a part of it, true or not, and (to tell a 
truth that is all my own) 1 do not yet feel sufficiently taken into 
your confidence to venture on translating your pulses to your- 
self — no ; 1 will not venture ! 

This much I may say, as a literary godfather, and with a free- 
dom given me by never having seen beyond the edge of your 
bonnet till a month ago, that the intense passionateness of your 
nature is all ready for utterance in undying language ; and that 
if you do not breathe your heart soon upon an absorbent object, 
you will either be corroded by the stifled intensity of undeveloped 
feeling, or you will overflow with poetry and (like other volca- 
noes that find a vent) blacken the verdure around you with the 
cinders of exposed agonies. In short, you must love or be famous! 

320 



Selections tvom Xettecs to Ibec 

Wretched dilemma! I have studied people of genius more than 
you were prepared to guard against ; and I read in the poems 
you send me exactly what your looks and conversation be- 
trayed — boundless capability of love, and no present flow from 
the fountain. 1 cannot enlarge upon this without the hazard of 
running against some "Ideal Found," and I leave it till you 
make me your confessor — not to say, your " pilgrim prophet." 

By the way, I do not see a fault in your style or versification. 
You have only to trust your pen. 

Yours, with strong interest in your unturned leaves of life, 

N. P. Willis. 

Leipsic, September 27, 1845. 
My dearest Friend: Your sweet letter and beautiful sonnet 
reached me at Wiesbaden a few days ago, and since that time 
1 have been on the wing, getting northward to see my brother 
who is studying at this place. I write now merely to "make 
affidavit " that I wish my place kept in your friendship, and to 
assure you that there is no one in America whom 1 wish to see 
more. A glorious nature, prodigal of sweetness and genius as 
yours is, becomes a sort of " Isola Bella " — a sighed-for island in 
the great ocean of memory. I must explain the poetry of this 
by telling you that of all my years of travel, the day I spent 
at this lovely island in the Lago Maggiore is the most treasured 
and freshest in my remembrance. So, hereafter, please answer 
to the name of "Isola." ... N. P. W. 

Ramble-Brook, N.Y., February 12, 1853. 

Nellie sends up to inquire whether 1 have " anything to say 
to Lynchie." Why, of course, I have ! Well, how are you, dear 
equally-beloved-of-man-and-woman ? Does our often talking and 
always thinking of you have any perceptible effect on your gen- 
eral health? Are you sweetened at all for those who see you by 
the blessings sent to you in great lumps by those who don't see 
you ? It is otherwise a world of mournful shortcomings. . . . 

Write us the news, dear Lynchie. Tell us if you are loving 
21 321 



Bnnc C. X. JBotta 

anybody more than his fellow-man. God bless you,— but of 
course he will, — and may you be happy in what ought to make 
anybody happy, the sweet and blissful privilege of occupying 
your own charming existence. 

Yours ever, sincerely and affectionately, N. P. Willis. 

Idlewild, N. Y., December 3, 1853. 
Beloved and adorable Ljiichie : Is it possible that it is true, and 
you are back again ? Gracious, how we want to see you ! Nellie 
would give everything but her new baby (Miss Honora Willis) 
to get her arms round your neck. When can you and your 
mother come up and spend a week at Idlewild? Write and tell 
us. God bless you, and welcome home. 

Ever yours, Willis. 

March 24, 18^^. 

Mj> dear Lyiichie : The positive news of your coming marriage 
affected us very strongly, of course. Nellie and I love you so 
well that we tremble while we rejoice in new wings so venture- 
some, though so expanding of scope and lift. I believe, how- 
ever, that you are one of those who carry your own '' happy star,'' 
and, as to happiness, can planet for yourself. You are above 
destiny — subject naturally to nothing. If you promise to love, 
honor, and obe)>, it is as a volunteer altogether ; please say to Mr. 
Botta, with my best respects, may God bless you, husbanded 
or wasted ! Nellie is my " business man," and has doubtless told 
you what we expect in the way of a visit from your better half 
and you. Our glen is a place for the happy — geologically 
viewed, I believe — only ** more so." But there will be time to 
spare, besides, for letting us see and know Mr. Botta. We trust 
you will both feel more at home at Idlewild than anywhere else. 

Well, dear Lynchie, no woman ever deserved more love, and 
few mortals ever were better constituted to have all that be- 
longed to them. He will love you all he can, till death — and 
that, for such a universal idol as you are, will be the *' last 
drop " which you alone require. And so, with all the blessings, 
ever yours most truly, N. P. Willis, 

322 



Selections trom letters to fter 

April 26, 1857. 
Mj> dear Friend: Please draw on me "at sight" for any 
amount of thanks, for your long and kind letter of information. 
I was exceedingly interested in it, and we will consult as to what 
is to be done about it. How is it possible that a man can be 
so victimized in a civilized country? But we will talk of it — 
easier than this weary inking over our ideas. Nellie was much 
interested in your letter, and wants to see you — as who does 
not? We both send love, and are ever faithfully yours. 

N. P. W. 

New-York. 
Here you are, dear Lynchie, portrayed as the angels take por- 
traits, — a good likeness of you, — probably as you will figure in 
heaven ; may I be there to see ! Meantime you must eat terres- 
trial dinners, so can't you navigate this way in unangelic over- 
shoes at four mortal p. m. ? 

Yours always, N. P. W. 



LETTERS OF FREDERIKA BREMER. 

Stockholm, 1845. 
To Anne C. Lynch : Whoever you may be, sweet lady, whose 
harmonious voice has passed the great waters to reach my distant 
and lonely shore, let it be a satisfaction to your noble heart to 
know the effect your lines have produced in the home of her 
to whom you have directed them. I read them aloud to my 
mother, my sister, and my cousin, Sir Fabian Wride (who after 
the death of my brothers is my only brother); but often I must 
stop, so deeply touched was 1 with the beauty of the poesy and 
affected with the meaning it conveyed, so gratifying to my fondest 
wishes — yea, to my only wish in life, in respect to men, or man- 
kind; and the glistening tear in my eye was reflected in those of 
my relations. So do not fear, dear lady, that the ambrosia of such 
praise can do anything but good — purifying and vivifying the 

323 



Bnnc C. X. asotta 

soul of the mortal who receives it, spurring it the more to try 
to merit what is offered by the hand of grace. 

So blessings on you, sweet and noble muse of America, and 
thanks forever from the family and the heart of your Swedish 
friend and sister-mind, Frederika Bremer. 

Stockholm, 6 April, 1840. 

Dear Anne Lynch : I have to thank you, dear Anne, for a sweet 
letter, and, moreover, for a welcome promise to write to me 
"something" about yourself, your society and life in America. 
Do, my dear young friend! It will greatly interest me to see a 
truthful and unbiased picture of private life in that part of 
America where you reside, its influence on the morals and 
happiness of individual man and particularly of woman. It will 
be to me a precious introduction to the chapter I myself wisii to 
study, if I once can come to your shores. 

In my next book you will find some characteristics of our 
inner and better life, of what there is going forward under the 
eyes of the Scandinavian genius. Danes, Norwegians, Swedes, 
though brethren in history, literature, and social life, are still 
very different in spirit. I cannot but acknowledge that I am 
very partial to that of my own people. 

But we should be so, my dear young friend ; every one should 
be partial to his own land and view its life through the eye of 
love, — the only truly sharp one, — and every one endowed with 
genius should employ it in bringing out the characteristic genius 
of one's people, and let it light on its own soul as on those of 
other nations. 

I long for your poems; 1 know I shall love them. Your mis- 
sion as a poet is one of the noblest. May it prosper, dear Anne, 
and the happiness of a great and good heart be your lot. 

Most affectionately yours, Frederika Bremer. 

Stockholm, December 1, 1847. 
Dear j4nue Lynch : . . . \ have not yet discarded the hope 
of seeing the shores of the New World and its noble-minded, be- 

324 



Selections from Xettcrs to *er 

nevolent people, its beautiful and refined women. 1 hope yet 
once to visit the Penates of America and to compare them with 
those of my Scandinavian home. 

You, dear Anne Lynch, 1 then hope to see and converse with. 
Your beautiful talent is of a cast which must be conducive to 
happiness for you as well as delight for your fellow-men. The 
deep melancholy which at times has cast its shadow over you 
is but the dregs in the inkstand of existence, which every deep 
soul takes ere it can pen the strong inspirations of life, the depths 
of sorrow or joy, or mysterious nature and heavenly grace. So 
I do not fear the plunge, my dear young friend. Believe me, you 
will rise from it rich of the treasures of the depths. And with 
wings such as God has given to you, you must soar over all the 
sorrows of earth in the sunshine of everlasting light. No fear! 
I should like to speak specially with you on this theme, but time 
is at this moment denied me. God bless you, dearest Anne, and 
make you so happy as wishes your obliged friend, 

Frederika Bremer. 



Cambridge, Mass., December 20, 1849. 
Dearest, sweetest Anuc : There, now, you come to heap glow- 
ing coals on my guilty head, making me, through your sweet lines, 
feel still more bad not to have written to you long before ! But 1 
must tell you, dear Anne, that I have been constantly writing to you 
for weeks in mind, only that 1 could not come to pen it upon paper; 
and then you know how it is with me, and what a poor letter- 
writer I am. 1 know you will excuse me. But now, indeed, I must 
at least say, thank you, my dear Anne, for the past and the present 
kindness ; I feel it more than I can tell, and long to make you feel 
it sometime or other. The memories of your kindnesses are always 
with me, cheering and comforting me. . . . Dearest Anne, I must 
leave you now, but hope to see you and your dear mother, and 
your young ladies, in the course of February, if not earlier. Give 
my love to your mother, and best regards to your friends. Be- 
lieve me, my dear Anne, yours affectionately, 

Frederika Bremer. 
ai* 325 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

Geneva, Switzerland, August, 1857. 

Dearest Anne : Months have gone by since I received your dear 
letter, which found me in one of the remote valleys of Switzer- 
land, where I was restoring myself after great fatigues and later 
illness. In your letter 1 saw you, all yourself, my own dear ami- 
able Anne, sweet and serious and kind, and I blessed you in my 
heart for it. 1 like to think you are married with an Italian. The 
Italian character has a peculiar charm to me ; there is in it a sim- 
plicity and a grace with a chivalrous feeling for women which 
delights me. I think an Italian must love you dearly, and in a 
peculiar way as a woman and a poetic soul, as you are ; and it 
is sweet to be loved well. 

Now, you will want to know something of the friend to whom 
you once were a kind hostess and friend. Dear Anne, she is 
well, and thanks God for her existence. She has had severe trials, 
dreary times to pass ; but they are passed, and the fountains of 
hope and love spring still, — perhaps are more strong than ever. 
Love ! did I say? yea, but not more of earthly friends. All those 
I have dearly loved are gone, — gone to the unknown land. My 
love on earth has become more like adoration, and 1 need not tell 
you for whom. I like to read his name, to study his meaning wher- 
ever I go ; and in every page of nature and history of present life 
that I do study, I hope to see his light, and love more and more 
clearly, and to make others see it. This makes life dear to me. 
If I can carry out what I have planned for this purpose, many 
souls will be befriended and strengthened; and, my love, my con- 
stant, only true love will make my faults and errors pardoned by 
God and those who have any right to pardon me. 

O Anne! This is my prayer and my hope ! And this is a 
confession to you whose pure mind 1 know. As to my earthly 
plans and movements, they are now to go to Italy. The coming 
winter I intend to pass in Rome. Perhaps 1 may go to Greece 
and to Jerusalem. But this will depend on several circumstances. 
In two years after this present one I wish to be back in my own 
land, which I shall probably no more leave until my very last 
voyage on earth. God permitting, 1 will have plenty to do until 
that moment. May 1 not hope that when 1 am once more in my 

326 



Selections from Xetterg to Iber 

own land, you, my dear Anne, with your husband, will pay me 

a visit? 1 do hope it, and beg you to remember in kindness, 

your Swedish friend and sister, 

Frederika Bremer. 



Stockholm, February i6, 1864. 
Dearest Anne : Your good and interesting letter from New-York 
has been to me a true treat : first, by its being from you and 
bringing good news from you ; second, for the many interesting 
things of general import contained in it. Cheering and refresh- 
ing one, many things you tell about the regeneration of your peo- 
ple, — about its rising to manhood ! Alas! that so bloody a baptism 
was needed, and still seems needed for it ! 1 need not tell you 
with what intense interest I have followed, and do follow, all 
phases of this American war, which certainly is one of the most 
remarkable in modern, and perhaps also in ancient, history : next 
to the religious war of "thirty years," which closed the middle 
age and founded a new order of things in Church, State, and So- 
ciety. I know of no war except the present one in America where 
so great and so life-teeming principles are working for the future 
of still unborn generations. And to have lived to see its probable 
issue, its certain fruits, is a great privilege. Oh, how I should 
wish to respond to your most kind invitation, your sweet words, 
by coming once more to that great country of my hopes and fond 
aspirations for human felicity ; to sit down there with you and 
yours, looking out over a pacified realm rising new-born and puri- 
fied out of the bloody strife, and observing with you the signs of 
the coming day ; but that will hardly be ! I feel old and weary, 
and do not believe I have many years left to live, and those I must 
devote to my country and to the work given me there in more 
than one way. But my heart and mind will never be absent from 
America. One of my last looks of love and blessing will be for 
that country where I have lived so much, enjoyed, loved, and 
learned so much ; and on which still my fondest hopes for a bet- 
ter and more happy humanity do repose. I am delighted to hear 
you say that you " begin to find that life can be too short," and 

327 



Bnnc C. %. aSotta 

that happy love has made you feel so. If you once will have lei- 
sure and tell me more about your husband, your home, your pur- 
suits, every-day life, and plans for future life, you would give me 
great pleasure. . . . Alas! when will this war cease ? Though 
every pulse of my being beats for the success of Northern arms 
and ideas, I do suffer with the South, with its brave men and 
its much-suffering, self-sacrificing women, with its good slave- 
owners and happy slaves, — for such there are, though now they 
are confounded with the cruel and the unhappy. 

In my new edition of letters from America 1 shall give a sum- 
mary of recent political events and present state of things in 
your great land. Your last good letter is a help to me in this 
task ; and I shall be thankful for any new hint or observation 
that you would give me. I must break off. Farewell, dearest. 
Best regards to your mother and husband, from your affectionate 
old friend, 

Frederika Bremer. 

My dearest Anne Lynch .• . . . 1 send you some pictures ; the 
names on the several scraps of paper will not be strangers to 
vou — wonderful little encyclopedian, universalistic literary lady, 
as you are! Yes, dear, I have got your " Handbook of Litera- 
ture," a truly wonderful product of the genius of the New World. 
No woman but an American would, I think, effect gracefully and 
cleverly such a mammoth work. Many, many thanks for this 
book, as useful as interesting. . . . 

Your obliged friend, Frederika Bremer. 



LETTERS OF HENRY GILES. 

Newport, June 23, 1847. 
My dear Friend : ... I will first refer to a question on which 
we have talked ; and that is the relation of poetry to moral pur- 
pose. Extend the form of expression and say — the relation of 
art to moral purpose, and we shall cover nearly the whole ground 
of criticism — within which, of course, poetry is included. I 
328 



Selections from Xetters to fbct 

maintained, if I remember correctly, that a moral purpose was 
not the proper end of art ; therefore, not of poetry. I felt that 
I was right. What is it that one seeks first of all, above all, in 
art? Enjoyment. This, then, is the first and great end of art. 
Not merely through the senses, for art can never wholly belong 
to the senses, — nor yet purely through the reason, for art can 
never wholly belong to the reason. To specify all the elements 
which combine in the perfection of art would be to go through 
the whole philosophy of criticism. One thing is certain, that 
these cannot be confined by the limitations of ethical require- 
ments, nor to the purpose of ethical results ; if they could, all 
art would be but a mirror of morality. Art, however, has con- 
cern mainly with imagination, and not with conscience ; and 
though it may satisfy the conscience, if it fails in the imaginary 
element its failure is complete. . . . 

Yours truly, H. Giles. 

QyiNCY, Mass., October 29, i860. 

Afy dear Friend : It gave me no common pleasure to receive 
a note from you. You may be quite sure that long silence and 
distance have not caused me to forget you, nor in the least weak- 
ened my regard and friendship for you. 

Your book I was glad to have ; but have only had time to look 
at certain portions, which 1 found admirably well done. Con- 
sidering how brief it is, and yet so clear and comprehensive, it 
combines also with its brevity a good deal of modern research. 
In the Italian section, I see fully appreciated the name of " Vico," 
the real founder of the " Philosophy of History," which late 
speculators have plundered without acknowledgment, gratitude, 
or conscience. . . . 

Yours truly, H. Giles. 

Chicago, March 23, 1861. 
Mj> decir Friend : . . . You know better than I can tell you 
how shallow the strata of our educational systems are. They 
were thin in the beginning, and so far as I can see now, they 

3^9 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

grow thinner year after year. The present is all in all. The 
past wears out of memory here ; yet if men would only see 
it, a living knowledge of the past is only that which gives a 
deep and real knowledge of the present. This, however, is a 
lesson to which our people have never yet given themselves; 
socially and politically they are now reaping bad fruits from this 
historic ignorance, and by and by may reap yet worse. We have 
intellectual and moral activity, as a mass, and we want intel- 
lectual and moral culture. Culture is the growth of patient thought 
and study. We are not patient, thoughtful, or studious. . . . 

Yours sincerely, H. Giles. 



St. Louis, November 23, 1863. 
Mj> dear Friend: I forward to you for examination a sylla- 
bus of the proposed course of six lectures on " Life in Shake- 
speare " ; please to examine it, and I shall be greatly obliged if you 
will favor me with your criticism. 

I. IVoman in Shakespeare. 

Ideal women — Romantic women — Impassioned women — 
Vice in womanhood — Tragic women — Untragic women — 
The heroic element in womanhood — Love in woman- 
hood — The unity of womanhood. 

II. Man in Shakespeare. 

The unity and duality of human life — Man in his diver- 
sity — Man according to his era or nation — Man individu- 
alized — Intellectual men — Impassioned men — Sensuous 
men — Comic men. 

III. Shakespeare's Comic Power. 

The humanity of humor — Characters we laugh at — Fools 
and their varieties — Characters we laugh with — Wits, 
satirists, rogues — Characters that we both laugh at and 
with — Falstaff — The philosophy, imagination, and pathos 
which underlie Shakespeare's humor. 

IV. Shakespeare'' s Tragic Power. 

Pathos — The forces of passion, mtellect, and thought as 
elements of the tragic. 

330 



Selections from Xetters to Der 

V. The Study of Life in the Study of Shakespeare. 

We study life as a whole in Shakespeare — We study it 
distributively, impartially, syrapathetically — The value of 
this study is artistic, philosophic, and practical. 

VI. Shakespeare's Personalitjy. 

Biographical sketch — Shakespeare in relation to his coun- 
try — Society — Mankind — His associates and friends, and 
their relation to himself — The order and progress of his 

genius. 

H. Giles. 



A LETTER FROM MR. CLAY. 

Ashland, Ky., September 30, 1849. 

Aff dear Miss Lvnch : Notwithstanding my great repugnance 
to letters for my poor autograph, and to idle letters from total 
strangers, there are other letters, my dear Miss Lynch, which 
I receive with pleasure, as I have yours with more than an or- 
dinary degree of it. It assured me on your part, as 1 now do on 
mine, of the continuance of that friendship which we recently 
formed at Newport. And I have to thank you for the scraps 
(not of bread, but of praise) inclosed in your letter, in which 
you speak in such terms of kindness of me. 

Jeremy Taylor has not described ill the sentiment of friendship 
in the passage which you have quoted, but its emotions are rather 
a proper subject of feeling than of description. If women were 
really without heads, as you unjustly estimate, you would coin- 
cide in that opinion. Their excellence, I think, consists in their 
blending together better than our sex does the impulses of the 
heart with the dictates of the head ; or, if you please, tempering 
the severity of the sovereign head by the affections of the mer- 
ciful heart. 

I returned home about a fortnight ago, after passing through 
scenes of excitement, arising from the vast multitudes through 
which I passed, that 1 dare not attempt to describe. I wonder 
that I escaped from them with my life unhurt. At Syracuse, on 
the morning of my departure, I was locked up with a lady three 

33' 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

quarters of an hour, as an asylum from the pressure of the crowd ! 
I should have been happy if, to escape from them, I could have 
been oftener placed in a similar situation. As my secretary, you 
could in that time have written a dozen of letters for me. 

I found my family in good health on my return. But you will 
be surprised when 1 tell you that Levi, my valet, was again se- 
duced to leave me at Buffalo; and still more, that he has again 
returned, not, however, yet to me, but to Louisville, where he has 
reported himself to a friend of mine, quite penitent and sorrow- 
ful. 1 shall forgive him, but 1 shall not retain him as a valet. 

I request you to present my warm regards to your good mo- 
ther, and, feeling a deep and lively interest in the welfare of 
both of you, I shall be most happy to hear sometimes from you. 
You must not estimate the extent of my friendship by the brevity 
of my letters. As you anticipated, I feel myself encompassed by 
a vast number of them, to some of which I am forced to reply ; 
but to none of those replies shall I subscribe myself with so much 
pleasure as 1 now do, that I am faithfully your friend and obe- 
dient servant, H. Clay. 

Having sent a copy of her volume of poems to 
Mr. Clay, she received the following note : 

Newport, R. I., Atlantic House, August, 1849. 
I beg you to allow me to tender to you, my dear Miss Lynch, 
my cordial and grateful thanks for your acceptable present of the 
volume of your poems. I had before enjoyed the gratification 
of perusing some of the productions of your pen, but in this 
collective form I shall consider myself as possessed of a precious 
treasure, which I shall value more highly from having made the 
acquaintance of the fair authoress. And notwithstanding my 
aversion to the collection of autographs, I shall ever cherish 
that of Miss Lynch, which she has placed under the lines which 
she has done me the honor to inscribe to me in the commence- 
ment of the volume, with great satisfaction and most agreeable 
recollections. 

332 



Selections from Xetters to Iber 

I request to be allowed to subscribe myself, most faithfully your 
friend and obedient servant, H. Clay. 



LETTERS RELATING TO THE CLAY MEDAL. 

On Miss Lynch 's return to New-York from Wash- 
ington early in 1852, Mr. Clay intrusted her with a 
gold medal of himself, which had been presented to 
him by the Clay Association of New-York city. The 
committee had requested Mr. Clay to return this 
medal for some slight improvement which they de- 
sired to make on it. Miss Lynch willingly accepted 
the charge; she placed the medal in her satchel, and 
for greater security carried this in her hands through- 
out the journey. When she and the friends who 
accompanied her arrived in New-York, they took a 
carriage, and in the confusion this satchel was taken 
from her by some of the party and put up on the box 
with the coachman. On reaching home, she found it 
had disappeared and could not be found. She was 
deeply grieved over this, and wrote immediately to 
a friend in Washington requesting him to inform Mr. 
Clay of the unfortunate occurrence. Under the date 
of March 17, 1852, this friend wrote her as follows : 

I called on Mr. Clay and mentioned the loss of the medal. I 
found him not at all affected by it ; his spirits were as good and 
he as cheerful as 1 have seen him since his illness. He, 1 assure 
you, has suffered not the slightest depression on this account. 
That he appreciates this token of the respect and affection of his 
friends of New-York is doubtless true ; but the token had per- 
formed its office. The motive and intention of the presentation 

333 



annc C. X. JSotta 

gave it its value : that could not be lost; for things of the heart 
can never be lost. 

He regrets that it should give you any pain, and I beg you 
will give yourself no further uneasiness on this subject. Mr. Clay 
suffers nothing from it, attaches no blame to any one ; therefore 
I pray you to be happy, — for you deserve to be so, — and come to 
Washington, where you can minister so largely to the happiness 
of others. 



Miss Lynch placed the case in the hands of the po- 
lice ; and a friend of hers advertised, offering a reward 
of five hundred dollars, which was the value of the 
medal, for its recovery. A few days after, the satchel 
was found in a back street of the city ; it had been 
cut open and the contents taken. Thus all trace of 
the medal was lost. 

Mr. Clay wrote to Miss Lynch requesting her not 
to give herself any more uneasiness about it ; and as 
the committee proposed to have another medal struck, 
he said : " If my wishes could prevail, I would prevent 
the trouble and expense of the renewal of the medal. 
The fiict of its presentation to me is gone to the record, 
and may be embodied in history. Of the honor of 
that fact, no thief can rob me, whatever he may have 
done with the medal." 

The chairman of the committee, Mr. Daniel Ull- 
mann, wrote also to her, saying : "I pray you, Miss 
Lynch, to give yourself no further concern on ac- 
count of the loss of the medal. The accident is one 
that might easily have happened to any one. The 
subscribers regret only the uneasiness which the oc- 
currence has caused to you. Such are their feelings 

3M 



Selections from Xetters to IF^er 

toward Mr. Clay that they are rather gratified than 
otherwise to have another opportunity of manifest- 
ing them." 

The mystery of the lost medal remained unsolved 
for many years. But finally it was solved by the 
statements received with the following letter : 



TO MRS. v. BOTTA. 

Bangor, Maine, March lo, 1867. 

Madame : By the request of Professor Horsford, I will make 
known to you what 1 know of the fate of the Henry Clay medal. 

In 1853 I passed the summer in Switzerland. I went one day 
to visit a friend at Lausanne on the Lake of Geneva. He invited me 
to pass the evening with his cousin, who boarded with Madame 
Noir. While there, Madame told us that her neighbor and tenant 
had a beautiful medal of one of our statesmen, and perhaps she 
would show it to us. 

We called on her, and she reluctantly showed us the Clay gold 
medal, which I recognized at once as the one that had been 
stolen in America. I said nothing until we had returned to the 
hotel, when I reminded my friend of the facts connected with 
its loss, and said 1 thought it must be the same ; he agreed with 
me on that point. Then I quietly asked Madame Noir where the 
lady obtained the medal. She replied that the lady's husband 
was a sea-captain, and bought the medal in Philadelphia for a 
small sum. She also told me that the medal was rarely shown ; 
and that it was quite an honor for us to have seen it. The name 
of this lady I have forgotten. In Paris I described the medal to 
the artist who had made the design ; and he was sure it must be 
the original, and 1 have never had any doubt as to its identity. 

The history of the medal might be traced out by our consul 
at Geneva ; and perhaps it might be obtained on his demand. 
Very respectfully, Aug. C. Hamlin. 

33b 



nmc C, %, JSotta 



LETTERS FROM DANIEL WEBSTER. 

Washington, October 31, 1S51. 

Mj' dear Miss Ljnicb : On reading your note and the exquisite 
verses wiiicii accompanied it, I experienced feelings certainly 
such as no ordinary compliment or commendation could excite. 
Indeed, 1 was touched and moved by the vigor of the lines and 
the warmth of their sentiments. 1 know that poetry has its 
licenses, of which exaggeration is one ; but allowing for this, and 
also for any degree of personal regard which you might entertain 
toward me, 1 could not but feel elated. 

My dear lady, French scholars have a canon of criticism against 
which, I fear, you have greatly offended, so far as my name is 
concerned, in your stanzas. It is that " nothing is beautiful which 
is not true." Nevertheless, the beauty and the grace with which 
you write of the immortal lands of Greece and imperial Rome, of 
Plato, Demosthenes, and TuUy, redeem you from the fault, since 
you say nothing which surpasses what history records of those sons 
of genius and renown. 

I thank you, dear Miss Lynch, for putting my name on the same 
paper in which you mentioned theirs; and believe me when I 
say that the pleasure of the association is heightened by the hand 
which in so friendly a manner brings the names together. 

With cordial regards and all good wishes, 1 am, dear lady, 
truly yours, Danif.l Webster. 

Mr. Webster acknowledges with many sincere thanks the beau- 
tiful bouquet sent to him by Miss Lynch. He deems it a great 
honor to be thus remembered by so distinguished a person. At 
an earlier period of life, the gift by a lady of so many flowers 
from the garden might have excited Mr. Webster's ambition to 
attempt a return, either in flowers oi poctrj or at least in those 
oi rhetoric ; as things are, he can only ask of Miss Lynch to ac- 
cept in acknowledgment of her present, a cluster of warm, rose- 
colored, various, and unfading good wishes and regards. 
Nov. 30, 1 85 1. Daniel Webster. 



Selections trom Xetters to Iber 



EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS OF GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 

Louisville, Ky., Novembei 4, 1850. 
Mj> dear Miss Lynch: ... I thank you heartily for your kind 
letter, and have intended to write you for some time and tell 
you how much 1 have enjoyed your volume of poems. There 
are three or four pieces in it that 1 long have been able to re- 
peat, but there are others that 1 never saw before. 1 have read 
the whole book twice through, with constantly increasing ad- 
miration for the freshness, purity, and goodness of your heart, 
the strength and healthfulness of your intellect, and the sweet- 
ness, fervor, beauty, and affluence of your fancy. There are 
many of your sweet and beautiful images which, in the midst 
of the political strifes in which 1 am engaged, float upon the 
troubled current of my thoughts like lively water-lilies upon the 
bosom of a turbid stream. . . . 

... I used to visit in Windham frequently years ago, when 
you were a little child ; but I did not dream that the name of 
the sweet little child I sometimes gazed at was destined to be- 
come a familiar word throughout the nation. I respect you in- 
finitely too much to flatter you ; and it is no flattery to say that 
yours is one of the sweetest, purest, gentlest, truest, loveliest, 
holiest, and most beautiful spirits 1 have found upon the earth. 
The tendency of your poetry is to refine, to console, to purify, to 
strengthen, to ennoble, and to exalt; and I am sure that the world 
will be better for the sinking of such thoughts as yours into its 
heart. 

You say that you live very little in the past, the present, or 
the future. I am sure, Miss Lynch, that you are mistaken. There 
are few, very few, who live as much as you do. You certainly 
feel more, think more, accomplish more, and live more in a single 
month than most men and women do in their threescore years 
and ten. 1 do not suppose that any strong and overmastering 
passion has ever passed over your soul ; but 1 know that you 
have suffered, for the traces of suffering, subdued and chastened 

337 



annc C. IL. 3!8otta 

by a strong intellect and a high and holy will, are visible in your 
poetry ; and you know that suffering " curdles days into years." 
Mrs. Prentice sends her best regards to you, and always believe 
me sincerely yours, Geo. D. Prentice. 



LETTERS OF GEORGE WOOD ("PETER SCHMId"). 

Washington, December 19, 1851. 

Mj> dear Lady Anne: ... 1 was every way pleased with 
your article on the city of Washington. It is written with all 
your admirable tact, and the illustrations are extremely well 
done. The few remarks on the social life of Washington are 
highly commended. 1 wish there had been more, but I suppose 
you could not make the article longer ; perhaps you have a series 
of articles to be entitled " The Salons of the President's House, 
in the administrations of Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, 
and Monroe." If you could get up such a series of articles, giv- 
ing the personages who made up society in Washington in those 
days, they could not fail to be of great interest. 

How are you ? Pray drop me a line of your sayings and 
doings. With kind remembrances, I remain, 

Very truly yours, " Peter Schmid." 

Washington, April 18, 1853. 

My dear Ladj' Anne: ... I thank you for your kind favor 
of yesterday, and assure you that I am desirous you should be 
about something which, while it will promote your happiness, 
will enhance your reputation as a writer. I am sure your taste, 
genius, and talents have only to be put forth in some labor of 
love to be successful. I am glad you are reading "Thomas a 
Kempis." There are the confessions of St. Augustine, as edited 
by Elizabeth Peabody, published some twenty years since, which, 
if you can get, you would find worth reading. 

I beg you will present my affectionate compliments to your 
excellent friends, Mr, and Mrs. B . I am glad you find it in 

338 



Selections from Xetters to 1ber 

your heart to value such friendship. It is a good sign ; for I 
don't think there can be a sincere sympathy felt without oneness 
of affection for that great bond of sympathy — the supreme life 
of Christ, "our great God and Saviour." 
With my great regard, 1 remain your friend, 

George Wood. 

EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS OF HON. JOHN M. BERRIEN. 

Savannah, Ga., March 29, 1853. 

Mj> dear Miss Lynch : . . . \ read with pleasure your account 
of the manner in which you have spent your winter. The true 
source of happiness and of a mind at peace with itself is such 
useful and especially such benevolent employment as that in 
which you have been engaged. In a populous city like yours 
there must be ample scope for the exercise of the feeling which 
animates you, and 1 bid you God-speed with all my heart — as- 
suring you that the homage which I have cheerfully rendered to 
your native and cultivated intellect will be offered even in fuller 
measure to the benevolence which prompts the enterprise in 
which you are engaged. Speaking frankly to you, however, as 
I am accustomed to do, I am sorry to learn that you do not find 
the time you need for reading certain books which you would 
enjoy. " l^is iiiertice " is not a characteristic of the human mind. 
It must advance or retrograde, and such a one as has been al- 
lotted to you deserves better treatment at your hands. But I 
forbear, lest you should think 1 am going to assume an office to 
which I have no claim. 

Let me hear more of the school. I shall be much interested in 
the issue of your winter's labors ; and do tell me if you have found 
in those poor children the pure and lively pleasure which I an- 
ticipated for you. With cordial good wishes, 

Very truly yours, John MacPherson Berrien. 

Savannah, Ga., July 4, 1853. 
My dear Miss Lynch : . . . That " splendid plan of intellec- 
tual culture" which has so long dazzled your imagination, and 

339 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

which, in the language of this age of dollars and cents, would 
" pay better" in every way than anything else, is, I am sorry to 
see, still postponed to " a more convenient season." Do not 
consider me intrusive in again reverting to this. The depository 
of a single talent was held criminal for burying it in the ground. 
How much more should be the one to whom ten talents were in- 
trusted ? But I fear I have exceeded my monitory privilege, and 
will forbear, only commending you to keep in mind the injunc- 
tion, " Carpe diem ! " 

In some of your future wanderings, do, please, step on board 
one of those floating palaces which are continually moving be- 
tween your city and ours. Besides the personal welcome you 
would receive, we will give you some new ideas of Southern so- 
ciety, and of the activity and energy of its members. Farewell! 
Your letters always give me so much pleasure, which I am sorry 
I cannot repay ; but I am always very truly yours, 

John MacPherson Berrien. 



A LETTER OF GOV, T, H. SEYMOUR. 

Hartford, Conn., January ii, 1851. 

Dear Miss Anne : . . . Your esteemed favor of the 5th gave 
me great pleasure. I do almost envy you the friendship and so- 
ciety of Mr. Clay, Judge Berrien, and many others that are now 
in Washington. When 1 have opposed Mr. Clay, as 1 have some- 
times politically, I have felt what Prentice in his life of Mr. 
Clay has expressed in a line of poetry — a sort of " remorse of 
love." The great statesman is associated in my mind with my 
earliest recollections of American eloquence and exalted patriot- 
ism. His present position is far above the reach of party strife 
and party attacks, and I pray that the remainder of his days may 
be as tranquil and happy as his life has been useful and honor- 
able to his country and mankind. 

... I did think of spending some weeks in Washington this 
winter, but it will be impossible; although the inducement you 
offer is certainly worthy of consideration. But 1 never got along 

340 



Selections from Xetters to Iber 

very well with your amiable sex, and I fear it is too late for me 
to learn " new tricks." I am living more in " the ideal " ! 

Thro' long, long years to seek, to strive, to yearn, 
For woman's love, and never quench that thirst — 

No more ! Will it be asking too much of you to request the 
pleasure of another letter ? Renewing my best wishes for your 
pleasure and happiness, 1 remam, truly your friend and obedient 
servant, 

Thos. H. Seymour. 



EXTRACTS FROM R. W. EMERSON S LETTERS/ 

Concord, Mass., May 28, 1866. 
Dear Mrs. Botta ; . . . I hope that having found so frank and 
intelligent good-will in your house, I may not lose it. 1 even 
persuade myself that my next visit will be better than the last, 
since we shall begin at some advance ; and who knows but we 
shall arrive at our best experiences ! For I think in the short 
winter days — and in New-York they are shortest — we left many 
good topics untouched, and hardly came into the precincts of 
those which interest each of us most. . . . 



March 16, 1869. 
I am glad you find Huxley interesting. He is an acknowledged 
master in England. As long ago as the Prince of Wales was here 
in Boston, Dr. Acland interested us much in him. But I have 
read him less than his compeers — Owen, Tyndall, and Darwin. 
Natural science is the point of interest now, and I think it is dim- 
ming and extinguishing a good deal that was called poetry. These 
sublime and all-reconciling revelations of nature will exact of 
poetry a correspondent height and scope, or put an end to it. 

1 For other letters of Mr. Emerson see pages 177, 178. 

22* 341 



anne C. %, JBotta 

December 8, 1870. 
. . . I read last night in Mrs. Hunt's little book her lines to 
yourself with real pleasure, and found them all true. Then I lan 
along through much more, and with great pleasure in the truth 
and the originality of the writing. It has what 1 think a high 
merit — the necessity of insight in the reader. Each poem is a rid- 
dle which only thoughtful people can solve. But of this and 
much more I shall hope to talk with you soon. 

Yours faithfully, R. W. Emlrson. 



LETTERS OF H. W. BELLOWS. 

New-York, December 3, 1859. 
Mj> dear Mrs. Botta : I am overwhelmingly engaged nowa- 
days, and don't do anything I wish, but only what I must. 1 
thank you for remembering the existence of such an unsocial ani- 
mal as I am ; but I have found out that your charity is large and 
your long-suffering extreme. "These perilous times," abroad and 
at home, my heart is not big enough to feel all their significance; 
but it throbs with steady anxiety and sympathy for those who 
struggle for liberty on either side the ocean. Yesterday was a 
day to be remembered : whether Irving's death or John Brown's 
were the more perfect euthanasia, posterity will decide. But 1 
should not wonder if the hero-martyr's were longer remembered 
than the well-beloved fountain of our American literature. What 
a terrible thing to have our sense of constitutional obligation of 
good citizenship and country at war with our instincts of human- 
ity, our reverence for sanctity and honor, and disinterested no- 
bility of soul ! Was there ever such a terrible conflict in our 
country's history as that now silently raging — not in the news- 
papers or among the noisy partizans, but in the deep hearts of 
men who love their country, venerate law, and feel a profound 
responsibility for their words and their counsels at this juncture? 
God guide us aright! With love to Mr. Botta, 

Ever cordially yours, H. W. Bellows. 

342 



Selecttons trom Xetters to Iber 

New-York, January i, 1872. 

Dear Mrs. Botta : I wish you and the Professor a Happy New 
Year ! — and none the less seriously because of the strain of sadness 
that is scattered through your note. It won't do for such brave 
hearts as yours to talk about "our barren and prosaic lives." 
Who has covered life with more flowers (1 dare say, watered with 
some tears) than your kind and ever-active ladyship? — or done 
more to throw the poetry of sentiment and friendship over its 
prose ? Barren ! Yes ; so are the rocks that finally break into 
vines full of wine. Prosaic ! — so are the facts that at last cumulate 
into principles, and then ripen into romances and poems. I won't 
have you saying things that minister so to my own sadness ! The 
muffled drum in my heart wants no echo except from the tam- 
bour and pipe, that shall shame its melancholy away. Don't you 
dare to keep any time with it ! 

Dear Tuckerman ! how refreshing it is to see the general recog- 
nition of his quiet merit and essential simplicity, and ever child- 
likeness of heart and smile ! 

We will hope that no such noble and beautiful throng of peo- 
ple will gather for a half-century to hear somebody younger by 
a score or two than I tell how good and amiable and gentle 
and faithful a soul had passed on ! Dear old Sam Ruggles said 
to me a few days after T.'s funeral : " 1 was wondering whether 
your inventive mind could n't find something kind to say even 
of me in my coffin." And the old fellow's eyes filled with mois- 
ture that seemed like the approaching death-signal. 

1 will venture to say that I know nobody who has a kind of 
parallel position, a woman's place, in the hearts of scholars, 
artists, and belles-lettres society, in this New-York of ours, so 
firmly matched with Tuckerman's as a certain half-despondent 
friend of mine who lives near 25 West 37th street. May it be 
very long before my words are tested (to be wholly verified) by 
that Refiner who brings the silver out so clearly from what the 
Receiver of life and silence makes look often only like lead ! . . . 
Yours cordially, H. W. Bellows. 



343 



Bnne Q, X. :)i3otta 



A LETTER FROM AMOS DEAN. 

Albany, N. Y., March 28, 1855. 

Mji dear Friend : I received this morning a letter directed in 
your own handwriting, which, whatever else I forget, I shall 
probably never entirely have erased from my memory. That 
same handwriting of yours on the back of letters has, in bygone 
years, raised such commotions among the depths profound of hu- 
man feelings that 1 can never learn to see its tracings with in- 
difference. I opened it with eagerness, as 1 always do anything 
from you ; and although somewhat troubled at the outset in form- 
ing the word " Friend " out of , 1 halted not long there, but 

pushed through it, and upon sober second thought came to the 
conclusion that the envelope — at least the crust — was intended 
for me, and the contents — the kernel — for another ; and I accord- 
ingly retain the one and return the other to you. 

But you will not, 1 trust, do me the injustice to suppose 1 can 
remain indifferent to the fact the knowledge of which 1 have thus 
singularly acquired. You have occupied entirely too large a space 
in my own heart and affections for me ever to become indiffer- 
ent to any important event that awaits you in life. It is true that 
for many past years 1 have seen and heard but little of you, but I 
have nevertheless thought a good deal. And you must know well 
that scarce any living soul, and perhaps not any, has a more per- 
fect knowledge of the trials and hardships you have traveled 
through thus far than 1 have. I have got — and what 1 prize most 
highly, too — a record of them as they occurred, and of the effect 
they had upon your spirits. 

And now it is to me matter of the most sincere and heartfelt 
rejoicing that you are arriving at so desired a consummation of 
so many earthly wishes. If any human being deserves success, 
and rest, and repose, after so many of life's battles have been so 
successfully fought, it is surely yourself. Receive, therefore, the 
kindest congratulations of one who under any or all changes of 
circumstances can never cease to be your friend. 

Truly and sincerely yours, Amos Dean. 

344 



Selections from ^Letters to Iber 



A LETTER OF CHARLES L. BRACE. 

New-York, February 20, 1852. 

Mjf dear Miss Lynch : I thought much of you yesterday and 
to-day while visiting your parishioners of the Wilson Industrial 
School. Mrs. Wilson has them in excellent training, and they 
look up to her as if she was a queen. I find our little German 
rag-pickers are the most hopeful subjects of the lot. They were 
really enthusiastic in what they told me of the sewing, and sing- 
ing, and soup. Mrs. Wilson has succeeded, in some mysterious 
way, in cleaning their faces and untying their tongues. It all 
looks well so far, and the enterprise, with which you have been 
connected from the beginning, will go far in improving the con- 
dition of these poor children. What a treasure of a woman Mrs. 
Wilson is! You made a grand selection there! One of your 
proteges came to me, — the boy from Twelfth street, — and I 
promised him work. He looks like a very clever lad. We have 
a great work before us ; if thoroughly carried out as we intend, 
it will be a grand reform. I am very happy. Miss Lynch, to 
think our acquaintance began in such an enterprise, and it looks 
now like a real basis. 

I must tell you how very much I have enjoyed our acquain- 
tance, and how much 1 hope it will become a long and sure 
friendship. It seems to me there is nothing we should thank 
God more for than a new friend who will help us to do what is 
better and nobler, and who truly feels with us. You have really 
done me good. I have new faith and courage in knowing you 
and being friend to such as you. I have not much to offer in 
the way of friendship, being made up of a very fair proportion 
of "human nature," except that I can say I am a sure friend for 
all weathers and changes, even if a rather faulty one. I do hope 
our friendship will prove to be a real one among all these shams, 
and be a pleasure and support to us both for many years. How- 
ever, friendships are not made by words entirely. But, at least, 
you will take this as an expression of how much I value ours, 
and that I shall be glad to take from you, and give to you, the 

343 



Bnne C. X. asotta 

frankness and downrightness of a friend, feeling assured there 
will be no offense or distrust to either of us. 

You may not place much value on my good wishes and hopes; 
for, no doubt, you have had quantities of them at various times, 
'Spates" for the sentiment. Still, I cannot but think in our 
driving " Vanity Fair," we, none of us, find such a throng of 
true friends as to incommode us. And even you may bear one 
or two more, who will love and stand by you through all kinds 
of weather, of which I hope to be counted one. Now, dear friend, 
pardon my frankness, and believe me ever yours, 

C. L. Brace. 



A NOTE OF CHARLES O CONOR. 

March i, 1852. 
My dear Miss Lftich .*...! have many times experienced 
the pleasure of perusing occasional productions of your chaste 
and classic pen. This now has been renewed and increased by 
my becoming the possessor of your collection in one volume. 
It will always have a favored place with the few books not de- 
voted to professional purposes which furnish my literary enjoy- 
ments ; and I trust that the amiable and gifted authoress may 
long continue her contributions to our literature, and enjoy the 
respectful consideration she so richly merits. With many thanks, 
my dear Miss Lynch, I am yours sincerely, 

Charles O'Conor. 



A NOTE OF MR. SAMUEL RUGGLES. 

New-York, January 8, 1850. 
Mj> dear Miss Lynch : ... I have just been reading some of 
your beautiful poems. They are indeed exquisite gems of genius, 
taste, and feeling. It might be invidious even to select from so 
much that is so desirable ; but no one can fail to feel the tender 
and beautiful imagery the gifted author has thrown so gracefully 

346 



Selections from ^Letters to 1ber 

into the " dark, uftfathomed caves of ocean," nor the mingled 
grandeur and beauty, the exalted feeling, the truly celestial 
splendor of the glorious invocation "To the Sun." . . . 

Most truly yours, Samuel Ruggles. 



A NOTE FROM GEO. TICKNOR. 

Boston, Mass., October 23, i860. 

Mj' dear Mi's. Botta: ... I have been so much interested in 
your " Handbook of Literature." The portion relating to Italian 
literature I have read with great care and much interest. From 
the moment when I found that you said " Italian literature had 
risen or declined as the inspirations of Dante's genius have been 
more or less regarded," I felt that the true key-note had been 
struck, and 1 enjoyed all that followed. The other parts of the 
volume I have only turned over, but shall recur to them as I may 
have occasion. 

Please offer my best regards to Mr. Botta. I remember our 
little acquaintance with great interest, and wish it might be 
renewed. . . . Believe me very cordially yours, 

Geo. Ticknor. 



LETTERS OF FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. 

Guilford, Conn., March, 1864. 
Dear Mrs, Botta : The reason for the brevity of your note of 
the 28th grieves me sadly. Now that you are about to become 
one of Milton's 

Ladies whose bright eyes 
Rain influence, and judge the prize, 

those bright eyes ought not to be doing penance for the mis- 
chief they have done to young hearts in their girlhood. Pray 

347 



annc C. %. asotta 

take quickly good care of them, for your own sake and for all 
our sakes. 

I hope that their " influence " may be " rained" over all sorts 
of " Porte-Monnaie" at the "Fair," to its exceeding advan- 
tage ; and am quite vexed — reprobate and immoral as 1 am — at 
our friend Mr. Bellows and his brother dissenters — especial fa- 
vorites, you recollect, of the Reverend Joker Sidney Smith — for 
their denunciation of lotteries, thereby depriving you of the plea- 
sure of awarding the prizes Milton names. My old-fashioned 
reverence for things sacred was shocked some time since by hear- 
ing a clergyman, when reminded that our Saviour had sanctioned 
wine and drinking by a miracle, say: "I admit the fact, but, 
were he now on earth, he would not dare to outrage public 
opinion to such a degree"; and now it seems that clergymen, 
claiming to be successors of the eleven apostles, pronounce their 
conduct in choosing a twelfth by lottery (see Acts, I Chap., 26 
verse) an outrage upon the purity and piety of the party mem- 
bers of the New-York Legislature ! Truly, as Horace Greeley 
says, quoting from Galileo, "The world moves !" 

Truly yours, Fitz-Greene Halleck. 

October 17, 1865. 

Mj> dear Mrs. Botta : Among the "winged words" (I am 
reading Lord Derby's "Homer") and winning words of yours 
that made our recent interview so pleasant to me, were those 
expressing your willingness to possess the inclosed portrait of 
mine. I trust that its beard, being more flowing and pictur- 
esque and Byrant-like than mine is since its last reaping, will 
have the honor to meet your generous and gracious approval. 

When Madame Catalani, at Weimar, was proffered an introduc- 
tion to Goethe, she innocently asked : "Who is he? What in- 
strument does he play upon?" 1 find myself fast becoming as 
ignorant of books and of their authors as a dozen opera-singers, 
for until 1 saw (since seeing you) at Appleton's your very hand- 
some husband's very handsome volume, I had no idea that he 
was an author, even in his own language, still less that he was 
so complete a master of ours as a glance over the volume so con- 

348 



Selecttons trom Xetters to 1ber 

vincingly showed me. I look forward to great pleasure and 
profit from its perusal. 

Why did you not, my dear lady, mention it to me the other 
day when we were talking about Dante ? Why did you allow 
me to utter such superficial nonsense about his writings, trans- 
lations, etc., when you were brimful of all his beautiful thoughts 
and still more beautiful expressions, and could have set me right 
when I was wrong, and made me knowing when I was ignorant? 
O woman! woman ! how you must have laughed at me in both 
your sleeves ! 

I am not quite sure that I thanked you in voice, at the time 
you gave it, for your " Handbook." If 1 did, twice over can do no 
harm. I wish I had had access to such a work in my boyhood. It 
would have saved me from becoming tired of getting by heart all 
the quartos and octavos composing such a library as Charles Lamb 
says "no gentleman is without" — such works as Tom Camp- 
bell defines many of the Elizabethan dramas to be — a bucket of 
water containing a single glass of whisky. Your well-brewed 
and delicately flavored bowl of punch is worth them all. 

Pray oblige me by saying that this inclosed has reached you, 
and that you are, as usual, "healthy, wealthy, and wise" ; and 
believe me, dear Mrs. Botta, Truly yours, 

Fitz-Greene Halleck. 

April 13, 1867. 

Dear Mrs. Botta : Since viewing very gratefully your twofold 
gift, the sonnet and the letter, I have passed a week in New-York. 
"Indeed!" you say, "and did not call on me, Mr. Halleck?" 

Strike ! my dear madam, but hear me ! 

A violent cold — my penance, I presume, for preferring a hot 
chop to a smoked herring during Lent — caused me during the 
whole week to be as deaf as any personage the most distinguished 
in that line of calamity in history, from Julius Caesar to Miss Mar- 
tineau, and consequently to be such a disagreeable and unendur- 
able conversationist as you would walk a dozen miles to miss. 

Therefore, in denying myself the pleasure of seeing you, I have 
done you a great kindness, and may justly claim your thanks for 

349 



Bnnc C. %, JBotta 

my self-sacrifice and your sympathy in the suffering it has caused 
me. As soon as I recover the possession of all my seven senses, 
I shall hasten once more to ring at your door. 

In the mean time, should you be on your way across the water, 
I bid you and yours bon voyage out and home. I hope you will 
be delighted with Europe, and 1 know that when she knows you 
as well as I do, she will be delighted with you. 

Pray, why should your dear mother (to whom please kindly re- 
member me) be the obstacle you mention ? Why does she not 
go with you ? The change from shore to sea, and from sea to 
shore will add years to her life, and if she declines going, you 
know that the request, " Ye gods ! annihilate both time and space, 
and make two lovers happy! " has been granted — may say per 
telegraph, "Good morning" to each other as punctually as you 
have ever done. 

You have added a pure and lasting source of pleasure to Mr. 
Peabody's honorable consciousness of well doing, by the graceful 
sanction of your song, so briefly and beautifully anticipating the 
expression of " the thanks of millions yet to be." That you have 
made it a compliment to me is very kind on your part, and as it 
has reminded you of me and given me the lines and the letter, I 
thank you from my heart. 

With my kindest regards to Mr. Botta and your good mother, 
believe me, dear lady, Very respectfully yours, 

Fitz-Greene Halleck. 



3?o 



Selectione from bcr MritiuGS 
in pro0c anb poctri?. 



IProee 



Xeaves from tbe Biarp ot a IRecluse ' 

January i , i8)8. To-day it occurred to me that I would keep 
a journal. The reason I have not done so before is because I 
have thought that where no events happened, as here, and 
where one's mind dwelt so uniformly as mine has done on a few 
general conclusions that have given me the darkest views of life, 
a journal would be a monotonous document. What can have 
led me into such clouds of dark thoughts? I shall never forget 

with what contempt I turnedaway from B ,who told me I should 

outgrow melancholy. But lately his words have often occurred 
to me, and I am half inclined to believe that melancholy is but 
another name for ill health — want of air and exercise. En- 
nobling thought, that all these immortal longings, these aspira- 
tions that neither earth nor heaven can satisfy, "this perpetual 
moaning of the soul for sympathy, like the sea-shell for the wa- 
ters that should fill it" — that these should be the results of a fit 
of indigestion ! No ; it cannot be so. It is the struggle of the 
soul when she feels for the first time her fetters, as she wakes 
from the unconsciousness of childhood, bewildered with the mys- 
tery around her; aspiring, doubting, despairing, she at last falls, 
overcome with her own violence, and when she rises from the 
shock, it is with the subdued serenity of middle age. 

I am often inclined to laugh at the inverted notions of things 
I used to have, but before a smile is formed tears get the start of 
it. " Reverence, O young, the delusions of that youth," says 

iThis " Diary" was written by Mrs. Botta in the last period of her 
residence on Shelter Island, N. Y. It was published in " The Gift," 
a magazine of that time. It is now republished as a remarkable ex- 
pression of her sentiments at that early age. See page 4. 

'3 353 



Biiiic C. 1. aSotta 

Schiller. It is traitorous to our own hearts, when we alone have 
witnessed their agonies and known their indefinable desires, thus 
to turn the world's evidence, and join in the smile at their vain 
aspirations and fruitless struggles, and betray their weaknesses. 
No, my poor heart ! never again will I jest with thy delusions or 
the tears it has cost thee to part with them. Little indeed hast 
thou found of sympathy or love in the world; and now that thou 
wouldst cast away the mantle of the Ideal as unfit for the blasts 
and frosts thou must encounter, and wouldst gird on thy shrink- 
ing form the protecting armor of Philosophy, though thou tot- 
terest with its weight, 1 would not bereave thee of thy last 
stronghold, the sympathy of thyself. 

2d. 1 quite like journalizing. It will be company for me, and 
this is what I most need. To be thus "the cannibal of one's 
own thoughts" is horrible. To move among our fellow-beings, 
wrapt in ourselves, invisible, scanning the actions, compassing 
the petty motives, too often detecting other qualities than virtue : 
this drives us back upon ourselves, and teaches that 

There is no bond that mocks at Fate 
Like man's with his own heart. 

Moore says, in his " Life of Sheridan," that the knowledge we 
acquire in maturity and from inclination, in contradistinction to 
that received through the medium of the birch, has about it a 
freshness the latter can never possess. This is my daily expe- 
rience. Knowledge breaks upon me now like light upon the 
restored vision of the blind. 1 thank Fortune that I was such a 
paragon of idleness in my childhood. 1 am far from being free 
from it yet, however, though it is quite time. Twenty years of 
a life is sufficient for hibernation. 

1 am really pleased with this new acquaintance — myself. She 
is more companionable than I thought she would be, after being 
neglected for a lifetime. Not that I have had no thoughts, but 
they were shadowy from not being expressed in language. Why, 
then, have I never written before ? I believe it is because life has 
seemed of too little importance to record even a feeling of its 

.5?4 



Selections from Iber "Wflrltings 

Weariness. But that state has passed aw;iy. There is sublimity 
to me now in existence alone. To know that I am a part of this 
infinite, mysterious creation, — a conscious atom, capable of be- 
holding the beauty and immensity of the universe, — this is in- 
deed worth a life of suffering. 

^d. it was my intention in commencing this journal to ex- 
press some of the thoughts that have agitated me for the last two 
or three years. I have never given them utterance before — not 
because my heart was not aching to do so, but because I have 
never met those who cared what 1 thought, or who would un- 
derstand me, perhaps, if I told them. Goethe says somewhere 
that he was possessed of a surplus of sentiment, and as he could 
do nothing until he had disposed of that, he wrote " Werther." 
And I have an accumulation of egotism that I must throw oflf 
here, or I shall not be able to proceed. The action of mind is 
always interesting to me, particularly when it is under the influ- 
ence of strong emotions. 

Until I was seventeen I was a mere child in thought and 
action. I think it was studying natural philosophy — albeit I 
studied sparingly — that first gave an impulse to my latent facul- 
ties. That was the "deep-felt ray" that loosened the avalanche 
of thought, which, rushing with rapidity and violence through 
my devoted head, left despair and desolation in its track, and 
stopped not in its mad career till it reached the very outposts of 
the universe, till it had boldly questioned time and eternity of 
their secrets, and nature of her Author. Then my mind — to 
drop the avalanche — stood still, overwhelmed with doubt and 
confusion : it had flown beyond its natural atmosphere, and 
could not breathe the rarefied ether that surrounded it ; like the 
meteoric stones that by some strange convulsion are elevated 
almost without the sphere of the earth's attraction, but yet 
revolve with it until some other change once more precipitates 
them into its bosom; here have I been these three years in this 
unenviable state of betweenity, till now, suddenly and by some 
unknown cause, I find myself once more on a mental terra 
firma, and on the whole, if no wiser, 1 think rather better, for 

355 



annc C. X. 3Botta 

the jaunt. In this state of feeling of which I have been speaking, 
but for a few ties life would have been an intolerable burden. 
As it was, I often deliberated on the question of throwing it off. 
To me, 

Love, fame, ambition, avarice, were the same ; 

Each idle, and all ill, and none the worst : 

For all were meteors of a different name, 

And death the sable smoke where vanished the flame. 

To trace the cause of this state of mind, it would seem to 
have arisen from the intellect being suddenly excited to action, 
and then continuing to act without any regulator to its motion, 
so that it was tossed about like a boat without rudder or ballast 
on a stormy ocean. If I had then formed the habits of indus- 
try I now have, or had become more interested in study and 
society, I might have been spared much suffering. It is keeping 
aloof from the bustle and conflict of life, and looking at it 
through the cold medium of reason, that makes us chilled and 
indifferent ; as often in a ball-room I have been an uninterested 
observer till I became at last an excited actor. He is wrong, 
then, who calls this indifference to life, and the consequent 
misery, in one who idealizes rather than acts, the effect of an 
overwrought imagination. It is no fancy ; it is indeed the 
truth. All is vanity. But he errs, I admit, who dwells mor- 
bidly on it. There is somewhere in Bulwer's " Asmodeus at 
Large," the story of a youth who, thirsting for forbidden know- 
ledge, would 

Lift the painted veil that men call life. 

To escape from the horrible sights that his newly acquired 
power reveals to him, he flies to his mistress, but as he ap- 
proaches her he discovers " no whole but a million of lives loath- 
some and awful." It had such an effect on me when I read it 
that I cannot think of it now without a shudder. 

The external world is beautiful. Turn which way we will, 
to the heavens, the sea, the earth, we are " dazzled and drunk 



Selections trom 1ber Mritinge 

with beauty" ; to the graceful forms of animals, and our wonder 
is lost in admiration ; to our own species, to the soul-lit eye, 
the blushing cheek, and the intellectual brow, and our delight 
is deepened into love. Life itself is a pleasure — the power of 
motion in the invisible supporting air, and the thousand exqui- 
site sensations we are so delicately constituted as to receive 
every moment, are in themselves sufficient to make existence 
almost rapturous; but woe to him who would penetrate those 
regions of darkness and doubt that lie beyond the natural boun- 
daries of his mental vision. He is like that lover who, not 
satisfied that the cheek of his mistress blushes for him, would 
decompose it to its frightful elements, till, horror-stricken, he 
turns from the hideous sight. I have not then been acting or 
thinking falsely, but only foolishly. Henceforth, since there is 
a bright side to human life, let me keep my eyes steadily fixed 
on that, and, if possible, be blind to all else. With this page 
let there be an end to all horrors. 

5//&. Just finished Latrobe's " Travels in North America." He 
says, "No man can pass over it, from east to west, from north 
to south, without bringing away the impression that if on any 
part of his earthly creation the finger of God has drawn charac- 
ters that would seem to indicate the seat of empire, surely it is 
there." The desire to travel has been a passion with me for 
years. If the body is always confined, the mind must remain 
so in some degree, despite reading and thinking. It convinces 
us that we are not indeed the center of the world, and that the 
sun shines on other lands and other races. Once, my ideas of 
the delights of traveling were more highly wrought, as my 
knowledge was more limited; but knowing the facts instead of 
the poetry has not diminished the desire. 

It has always seemed to me that our country presented a 
noble field for a national poet. The elements of poetry are 
here, and want but the master hand to combine them. These 
elements are its immense extent, its varieties of climate and 
scenery, its noble rivers, its boundless prairies, its primeval 
forests, its aborigines, the sudden dawning of the continent like 
23* 357 



anne C. X. JBotta 

a radiant vision on the eyes of the Old World ; and lastly, its 
present government and the glorious revolution that estab- 
lished it. 

yth. Just read the " Court and Camp of Bonaparte," and I half 
regret it, for the v^riter with his faint praise has succeeded in 
belittling Napoleon, in my eyes at least, much more effectually 
than Scott, whose prejudice is so apparent that one sees*at once 
that for him nothing good could come out of France. This other 
writer, instead of dazzling us with glimpses of Napoleon's comet- 
like career, gives us petty details that destroy the whole effect. 
The reading of it is like going behind the curtains at one of those 
dioramas, which are very beautiful if seen in tlie proper distance 
and light. 

"Of all that flattered, followed, sought, and sued," how few 
adhered to the Emperor in his fall ! What a bitter disappoint- 
ment to a young and generous nature to find that the world is 
indeed made of such materials! I used to have a sort of poetic 
creed that it was selfish, cold, and ungrateful, but at the same 
time there was a latent hope that it might be poetry after all. 
It remained for experience, corroborated by history, to demon- 
strate its sad reality. 

8th. To-day I read a book of travels, a poor thing enough, 
but interesting to me, as it describes 

The scenes my earliest dreams have dwelt upon. 

Can it be that my presentiments will never be realized, and that 
I shall die without seeing those lands, when 1 have envied even 
the waves that kiss their sunny shores ? 

The author seems to belong to that class of persons who are 
neither poets nor men of common sense. Poets often lack 
common sense, or rather see everything through a poetic 
haze, and nothing with vulgar eyes. For instance, Lamartine, 
in his "Pilgrimage to the Holy Land," while our own country- 
man was disputing with his guide about the bakshish, belaboring 

}5S 



Selections from 1ber llflritings 

his donkey, or amusing himself with his servant Paul's persona- 
tion of the disciple at Jerusalem, he was weeping in holy rap- 
tures, prostrated before the sacred relics. Lamartine was a poet 
without common sense — Stephens a man of common sense, 
without a spark of poetry. Both are delightful in this case ; 
but I like best those characters which unite these qualities; and 
where they are united the best poets are produced, — that is, 
poets who delight all, — and Goethe says, "The poet deserves 
not the name when he only speaks out those few feelings that 
are his as an individual. Only when he can appropriate and 
tell the story of the world is he a poet." None but the most 
poetic minds read Shelley, while the most ordinary appreciate 
Byron. But I am getting into difficulty, for 1 really think Shelley 
the greater poet of the two — so I must think it over again. 

To-day I have been so lonely ! This loneliness I generally 
contrive to keep at bay by intense occupation of some kind — yet 
there are times when this fails and books offer no consolation — 
when I want a living, breathing, sympathizing friend. But 
Mashallah ! as the Turks say. I am just reading "Constanti- 
nople and its Environs." As long as 1 do not travel, 1 have a 
strong desire ungratified, and this has something to do in pro- 
ducing happiness, I think. It has always seemed to me that 
perfect happiness and perfect misery were nearly allied, because 
both states are hopeless. 1 remember reading a story of two 
lovers who died of being perfectly happy — and, paradoxical as it 
seems, 1 fully believe such a thing might happen. 

i2th. The last volume of Smollett's continuation of Hume I 
finished last night. Thank heaven, it is read through ! It ap- 
pears to me that Hume is overrated. Though his history is good 
as a reference, and it may be a duty to read it, it is hardly a 
pleasure. He could not easily be more uninteresting. 

i4t}3. Read Burr's Memoirs. I recollect a little incident Mr. 

T told me of him. At some place where he visited there 

was a pretty child, of which he was very fond and often brought 
it presents. Caressing it one day the child playfully put her 

359 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

hand in Burr's pocket. Mr. T said he should never forget 

the look of scorn with which he cast the little girl from him ; 
he never spoke to her again. Whatever may have been his faults, 
it is melancholy to see an old man like him walking among his 
fellow-men scorning and scorned. 1 have a fellow-feeling with 
misanthropes; that is, I can understand how a noble nature 
should turn from the mass of its fellow-creatures too often with 
pity or contempt; it should be pity, pity for their selfishness and 
petty malice — their stupidity, living in such a world of wonders, 
where every pebble and every blade of grass is a miracle and a 
mystery, yet living and dying with scarcely a thought above the 
sod that at length covers their dust. Yet, were we made to 
soar? May not genius be a disease? Oh, dear! it is dull talking 
to one's self — one wants contradiction sometimes. 

20tb. Since I wrote here last, 1 have stood by the death-bed of 

and followed to her narrow home my friend C . O Heaven ! 

what a scene ! — to see the dread conqueror clasp in his embrace 
the form we have often caressed, and the cold damp earth heaped 
over the bosom that cherished high aspirations and warm affec- 
tions ! To-night I have been to the grave. One week ago I 
spoke to her, I held her hand, I kissed the cheek that daylight 
may never more look upon. 

Answer me, burning stars of night, 
Where is the spirit gone ? 

How strange that though 1 have often thought of death, and 
even meditated hastening it, I never till now knew the weight 
of mortality ! Hereafter, let me live with the last hour before 
me. I have not loved my friends enough ; 1 have been exacting 
of their love, and avaricious of my own. How mad, how insen- 
sible, I have been ! I see myself in a new light, — an intellectual 
and moral being, by a mysterious destiny brought into existence, 
borne irresistibly along toward a gulf which 1 cannot fathom, 
and over whose depths hang clouds dark and impenetrable. 
Every moment hurries me along; and yet I ask not, I think not, 
I know not, to what. 

360 



Selections from 1ber TKflrltinge 

2ist. "The moon is beaming silver bright," the stars are 
looking down with a melancholy gaze ; 1 have looked on them 
a moment since ; they are the very same that inspired the fan- 
tasies of Plato and Pythagoras. There they shine with their 
pale, sad light, and Plato and Pythagoras are gone, and gene- 
rations have vanished like the waves that have broken on the 
sea-shore. Myriads of eyes have looked on them, myriads of 
beings like myself have "lived, loved, and died," yet they are 
not changed. I look upon them to-night — a few more years 
and 1 shall see them not, but still they will shine on. What 
is humanity amidst such a universe, and what am I ? The 
very trees under my window have lived longer than 1 can live, 
— my life, the very breath of heaven can destroy it. Races 
and generations are nothing; the mighty machine rolls on and 
sweeps them away. Father of light and life! thou alone know- 
est the conflicting thoughts that agitate my soul; give me a 
right spirit, and guide me in the way of truth ; thou only canst 
know my desire for it. Make me submissive to thy decrees, and 
prepare me for whatever fate awaits me hereafter. 

2)d. This has been a wretched day to me. 1 have had 
another of those paroxysms of tears that 1 vainly thought had 
ceased forever. I thought their fountains were dry. Struggle 
on, brave spirit! thou dost buffet the billows right bravely. 
Storms of wild thoughts have rushed over thee ; thou hast fed 
on the gall and wormwood of existence; "thou hast made idols 
and hast found them clay" ; thou hast looked over the broad 
universe for one spot where thou mightest repose, but in vain — 
all is inhospitable, dark, and forbidding — back thou comest to 
thyself, weary, but finding no rest, yet thou dost struggle on ; — 
courage, good heart ! thy pilgrimage shall soon be over, and 
though no beam of brightness break through the gloom of the 
future, yet on the mercy of thy Creator thou mayest calmly 
repose. 

24th. This has been a day of continued occupation, and all 
the thinking that I have done has been to wonder how 1 could 

,61 



Bnnc C, %. JSotta 

possibly feel so wretchedly as I did yesterday. My occupation 
has been nothing less than overturning the garret and restoring 
it to order ! As garrets and poets are often connected, perhaps 
there is something inspiring in the air of one. 1 feel so well I 
am ashamed. I have no more sympathy with what is written 
on my last page than a child. 1 have but one feeling, that of 
perfect health, with the liveliness that always gives me. 1 
wonder how every one can look so doleful and mope about 
so, — and yesterday I was on the bed crying my eyes out half 
the day, in the most hopeless melancholy and despair. All this 
for breathing the air of the garret ! But 1 shall have another 
day of rapture to-morrow, gathering paper, rags, emptying old 
bandboxes, and packing bundles. After that 1 suppose 1 shall 
sink again to the level of the second story and the companion- 
ship of musty books. 

28th. Finished Guizot's " History of Civilization in Europe," 
a clear and concise view of its progress, speaking of which he 
says, "Thus man advances-in the execution of a plan which he 
has not conceived, of which he is not aware, and comprehends 
by its results alone. Conceive a great machine, the design of 
which is centered in a single individual, though its various parts 
are intrusted to different workmen, strangers, and separated 
from each other; none of these understand the work as a 
whole, which he concurs in producing; and thus by the hand 
of man are the designs of Providence wrought out in the gov- 
ernment of the world." Thus it has often appeared to me that 
we are the instruments of some great and unknown end. But I 
forbear to speculate. 

1 have been quite ill to-day from a blow received on my head 
yesterday by being unceremoniously thrown out of a sleigh and 
dashed against a fence, and but for my quilted bonnet, that 
honored member (my head) would have lost all sensibility to 
pains and aches. As I was riding home 1 amused myself with 
thinking how little force was wanting to have quieted me for- 
ever. Then I should have been unconscious. There would 
have been the same bustle, the preparing of coffin and shroud 

362 



Selections from Iber Mritlngs 

that there was here a few days since ; they would have buried 
me, canvassed my merits and faiUngs, wept a little, and there it 
would have ended. In the hearts of a few the shock would be 
great and lasting ; but 1 have been so long separated from all I 
love that even were I to die, I should be scarcely a loss to them. 
Oh this waste of the affections ! this hoarding of them up as the 
miser does his treasures, till they rot and rust! it is death — it 
is worse than death ! To live in such a desert as this 1 must be 
made of " sterner stuff" than many. I do not forget my books : 
they indeed are all my consolation ; but they are like the sun in 
this wintry day — it shines, it lights up the earth with a thousand 
beautiful hues, but it is distant, it is cold. It warms not, though 
it gives us light. How often my heart aches for a kind word, an 
approving smile, from some one who loves me. But, perhaps, 
this is weakness. 

Feb. 1st. Read " IMary of Burgundy." The Lord of Hannut 
says, " Hidden within the bosom of this mortal clay is some fine 
essence, participating in the affections of the earthly thing it 
inhabits, but thirsting for knowledge beyond this world, and 
yearning for joys more pure and love more imperishable than 
the joy and love of this world can ever be," 

I regret that I do not write here every day. When I think of 
all the thoughts that have passed over my mind like shadows 
across a mirror, and left as little trace, it is always with a feeling 
of regret, and yet why should that be cause for regret more than 
that the beautiful clouds will disappear, and the flowers and 
leaves ? A beautiful thought is not more beautiful than a flower, 
yet we see myriads of them die without leaving a trace of their 
existence, and never sigh for them, — why should we for lost 
thoughts ? 

)d. 1 determined to write a page here, good or bad, every 
night, but last night I had no fire, and to-night I have no ideas. 

I said to B to-day in my letter, that some years ago 

my imagination took the reins of my mind, and drove off 
after the manner of Phaeton, leaving the other faculties to 

363 



Bnne C. X. JSotta 

come up at their lagging pace. Tiiinking of it again, I am 
sure it is so. 

Poor C , iiow soon I have forgotten her ! 1 have often 

asked myself if 1 were v^'illing to be as lightly thought of. I 
answer, yes. While I live 1 am avaricious of every breath of 
atTection and love my friends can bestow, but after 1 have ceased 
to be conscious in the oblivion of the grave, or have passed into 
a higher and holier state, why should 1 demand the tears and 
vain regrets of those who loved me here.? If there were still 
enjoyments in the world, why should 1 have their thoughts 
coffined with me ? 

But would I be forgotten ? Oh, no ! 1 would have my memory 
recalled like a strain of remembered music, like a pleasant land- 
scape or a sunset, causing no sorrow when they disappear. 

Hitherto 1 have always been unable to comprehend the desire, 
expressed so often and by so many, for posthumous fame ; but 
to-day as 1 sat reading, the idea of my thoughts living in the 
minds of thousands when 1 e.xisted no longer came across me 
with an emotion of sublimity I have rarely felt. This power to 
reach down, if 1 may say so, and connect one's self with the 
remotest posterity, is indeed a glorious immortality. 

1 am quite horrified to think how little I improve the time. 
Strange, that when these few flitting years are all that we pos- 
sess, we squander them in such idle pursuits, with a world of 
science, art, and beauty before us to be explored ! Would I 
could always remember that the moments are flying like arrows, 
and worlds cannot redeem one of them — that he is unworthy of 
life who has lived and made the world no better, and set faint- 
ing virtue no bright example. 

6tb. 1 often find that when I begin to express my thoughts 
they are quite new to me, or, before they are clothed in lan- 
guage, I cannot distinguish them. I suppose it is because I have 
never written them before now, and for the last year or two 
have not spoken them at all. My mind will collect materials, 
but it shrinks from the labor of putting them together — it will 
form the cocoons, but it does not like to spin and weave theni 
into fabrics. 

^64 



Selecttons from 1ber Mritinas 

yth. Read "Attila." I like the character of Ildica. After the 
scenes of terror she passed through, the voice of her lover had no 
music for her, and she retired to the solitude of a convent, though 
no obstacle prevented her union. I can conceive it. When the 
events of our lives call out an unnatural energy, the moment we 
become conscious of a superhuman power to meet and battle 
with our fate, that moment life assumes a new aspect. Gifted 
with a strange power, breathing in a rarer spirit, we are forced 
against our wills above the passions and feelings whose slaves 
we once were, and doomed from our elevation to behold them 
diminish in magnitude and luster. Alas for that elevation ! 
Alas for that human heart ! 

It is dreadful to think how I have wasted all my life. The 
next three months I mean to improve vigorously. The mind is 
acted on by laws like matter, and the more resistance we over- 
come the more we have the power of overcoming. If I were to 
measure the momentum of my mind, however, by the force re- 
quired to put it in motion, it would be tremendous. It is idle to 
regret the past ; the future I can control. But am I quite sure 
of that ? How do 1 know that we are not made for a certain des- 
tiny, as a clock to strike so often? How this question of destiny 
haunts me ! It is better to act than to speculate, however. I 
laugh outright often at the stupid wonder that overcomes me 
when I begin to think — but 1 oftener cry. 

Commenced the "History of Rome." What a divine power is 
this of acquiring knowledge! Though I often ask myself, 
"What from this barren being do we reap?" — surely it is not 
so barren. 

We should be thankful for the boon of existence, had we but 
this one faculty of acquiring knowledge — that is, as I happen to 
feel just now. Add to this the countless pleasures of eye and 
ear — of the affections and the senses — and who shall say he is 
miserable? What a beautiful bond of union is mind! How it 
carries us back and unites us with the great spirits of the past! 
Ages have trodden down their graves, worms have eaten their 
very dust; yet their thoughts live. Ethereal and imperishable, 
they float down the awful current of time, while empires and men 

?65 



Snne C. X. JBotta 

are swallowed in its mysterious depths. And I, but a bubble on 
this mighty ocean — I can comprehend these thoughts, can sym- 
pathize and unite my own with them, can make them a part of 
me, and feel that they at least will be immortal. 

8th. 1 have always delighted in that story of Bulwer's, in the 
" Pilgrims of the Rhine," called "The Life of Dreams," where 
a young German student succeeds in continuing a dream night 
after night, till at length it becomes the reality, and real life the 
dreaming state. Why, since the beings of the actual world are 
such, should we not betroth to ourselves the beings of the mind? 
Speak to them, they answer in our own tongue; love them, and 
the glowing page tells us eloquently that they would have loved 
us. Is love a dream or a reality? Once I believed in love, 
how devoutly ! But was not this love of the imagination ? I 
think it was. Yet it is the highest feeling of which our nature 
is capable. I say it is the love of the imagination, yet I know 
not that. We call it so, perhaps, because lovers are not often 
under its influence for a long time. They seem to discover that 
they have loved an ideal instead of a reality, and then they 
graduate their love accordingly. This every day's experience 
proves, but it does not, after all, disprove the existence of love. 
How much I have dreamed of love when 1 was younger and 
more poetical than I am now ! I have looked on the dewdrops 
and seen them by some strange sympathy draw nearer and 
nearer, and mingle into one ; I have seen floating blocks of 
inanimate matter, without any apparent cause, advance till they 
united ; I have heard the strings of a guitar, when you spoke 
on the key to which it was attuned, thrill back a corresponding 
tone; I have watched the electric cloud whirling through space, 
stormy and dark, giving no brightness and uttering no voice till 
it met its sister cloud ; and I turned in bitterness of soul to ask 
myself if amid all these sympathies of nature the human heart 
only was doomed to wander on its pilgrimage, desolate and 
alone And is it indeed so? Are all these aspirations and de- 
sires to be mocked by the sei-miiig of love, as the mirage of the 
desert mocks the thirsty traveler with green spots and flowing 

;66 



Selections trom Iber Mrltings 

streams ? I have struggled against this conviction, but I feel that 
this love is too elevated for humanity. We may desire, but we 
cannot attain it. Earliest, brightest, and last of my delusions, I 
resign thee. I turn from thee as from a guiding star : pale, 
steady, and bright, thou hast beamed on my dark horizon, and 
now thou settest forever. As the idolater, knowing not the 
true God, lavishes his adoration on some object of his own crea- 
tion, and invests it with the attributes of the Deity, Spirit of 
Love ! even so have I worshiped thee. 1 have worshiped thee, 
and thou art but a phantom of my own mind. I renounce my 
idolatry. Sweet, radiant dream ! throwing over life an ideal 
drapery, thou comest no more to me ; the touch of reason has 
broken the spell that bound thee to me, and now thou departest 
forever. 

March ptb. I am delighted with Gibbon. Though I have 
such a grand plan marked out for study, I cannot follow it up 
with half the perseverance I wish. Can I not throw off this torpor 
by exertion, as travelers keep awake in frozen regions, where to 
sleep is not to wake again ? In this case sleep is death also. For 
what is it to live without the exercise of our powers, like toads 
that lie buried for years in rocks? 1 choose to come out, if it 
is only like the toad, to hop round a little, and take the air. 

Spring has come again with her warm south winds, her loos- 
ened waters, and melting snows. What a perpetual miracle is 
this change of seasons ! How they roll on and bear me with 
them ! For some weeks I have not thought of death. Would it 
not be well to set apart a few minutes every day to reflect on it? 

I itb. With such a delightful course of study before me, how 
can I weary as I do ? It must be that I have no natural fondness 
for it, but have been driven to it by circumstances. I have long 
known that I must not place my hopes of happiness in others. 
Death follows in the rear of the unfaithful, and snatches up the 
few that remain to us. And how melancholy a thing is this 
change ! There has been a friend that we loved, with whose 
heart our own accorded, and like well-tuned instruments they 

^67 



2lnne C. X. 3Botta 

gave not a discordant note. We part — years intervene — we 
meet again, but oh ! with what sinking of heart, to find that 
we are strangers ! Different scenes and thoughts have turned the 
currents that ran so smoothly together, and they mingle no longer. 
That is a bitter and melancholy hour, more bitter and melan- 
choly than death itself; for if death takes those we love, their 
memory remains fresh and beautiful, and on that we can repose. 
But the estranged, the cold, the changed! — it were well if we 
could blot out their memory. As I was saying, then, our friends 
die and change, we ourselves grow old, and as the vigor of our 
youth decays, and the flowers of our spring wither, some objects 
must supply their place ; and where shall we find them if not in 
our own minds ? and what shall these objects be if not the cul- 
tivation of taste and the acquisition of knowledge ? These make 
us independent of time and place. Like the camel in the parched 
desert, we bear within us the fountain to supply the wants of our 
solitary pilgrimage. Thus refreshed and invigorated, we patiently 
travel on , while those around us languish beneath the storm, or die 
of the feverish thirst. One might ask, ' ' Will not this course make 
you selfish, by putting you above the necessity of sympathy?" No; 
not more than is necessary. Why, when we find nothing to lean 
upon, should we not support ourselves ? I have been too dependent. 
Like the harp that responds to every breeze, so has my inmost soul 
vibrated to every adverse breath of unkindness, injustice, and 
change. Is it not time, then, that the instrument were new strung, 
and the chords made of sterner stuff? Since the midsummer of 
my life is departing, let it bear with it like the summer of earth 
its perishing flowers. Bright, beautiful aspirations of my youth ! 
yearnings for that love a God only can satisfy, — for that sympathy 
that earth will never give ! — " radiant and white-robed dreams," 
ye leave me now forever! Go with the youth that cherished 
you and the tears that flowed at your coming. 

i2tb. I find myself even now, with all my improvements, 
often debating whether this mortal coil is in truth a desirable 
appendage. A sudden weariness of life comes over me, and 

I could lie down like a tired child, 
And weep away a life of care. 

368 



Selections from Iber Mrtttngs 

But I know this is wrong. I know that it is better to live. We 
are endowed with beautiful sympathies and divine faculties : we 
can love and pity ; we can think and imagine, and paint those 
imaginings in words and colors ; we can perceive the harmony 
and beauty of the world about us, — and is not this worth living 
for? And on the arch that history builds over the gulf of the 
past, we can wander back to remote antiquity and trace the na- 
tions of our kind while they sleep under the weight of centuries. 
"What are our woes and sufferance?" What if the world is 
unkind, our friends indifferent, and our affections water but the 
desert ? Nature is true. In the calmness of the sunshine, in the 
terror of the storm, in the beauty of the insect and the flower, 
in the mysteries of the stars, and in the action of her unchang- 
ing laws, does she not alike reveal herself beautiful to our gaze 
and worthy of our contemplation? Then come those "beings 
of the mind" that people the visions of the poet and minister 
to those finer wants of our nature that reality overlooks. Then 
there is the power of doing good to those around us. With 
such objects before you, will you call life a burden when a 
few brief years at most will deprive you of it? Let me then 
lay aside this morbid sensibility, and pass at once from the 
dreaming and sentimental girl to the active, resolute, and 
high-souled woman, chastened and subdued by thought and 
adversity. 

To-day 1 finished the reign of Diocletian. Is it not strange 
that history presents but two instances that I recollect, of men 
wearied with the glitter of a throne voluntarily descending from 
their elevation ? When Maximian remonstrated, Diocletian re- 
plied: "You would not wonder if you could see my cabbages 
grow." 

Is it not a proof that we are low in the scale of being, this fact 
that anything like greatness of mind, nobility, or generosity 
strikes us as something so strange? The world gazes in as 
much astonishment to see a man perform a really generous ac- 
tion as if he had suddenly mounted in the air on wings. It 
must be a low state of existence when the beautiful, the holy, 
and the elevated excite such emotions of novelty, rather than 
that which is base, cowardly, and low. The latter surround us 
24 309 



2lnne C. X. JSotta 

like the air we breathe. Show us the contrary, and we wonder 
and praise: praise a good action! — praise virtue! — praise a 
man because he has done just as he should do ! 

i^tb. A lost day. 

14th, Almost as bad. I fail to keep constantly before my 
mind the idea of the shortness of life and the certainty that I 
must die. How every disappointment and petty vexation is 
swallowed up in that awful truth ! What a panacea for all ills ! 
How cheerful, how happy, 1 am after thinking of it! It gives 
my thoughts a freedom they never had before, and my mind a 
calm and delightful elevation. I say it does this when I think 
of it, and I was just wondering why it is so little in my thoughts. 
Perhaps the reason is that it is unnatural to one of my years and 
temperament. Hitherto I have rebelled, — now I submit. Since 
life was so fair 1 was disappointed that it was not paradise. I 
have overlooked the actual good, and clamored for the imaginary. 

l^th. Despite philosophy and everything else, there have been 
two or three hours to-day when life was almost insupportable. 
Suddenly the fit passed off, and left me as light-hearted as it 
found me. How many thousand times has this sickness come 
over me, and I have wept till my tears were exhausted ! It is a 
strange state, this abandonment of despair ! Friends, foes, art, 
nature, the beautiful, the deformed, all disappear in the blackness 
that enshrouds me. Indifference to life, death, heaven, and hell 
takes the place of my warm affections and lively perceptions. 
Formerly I felt this often, but of late more rarely. As I have 
said before, it is not imagination, but truth, that produces this 
effect, and the error is in allowing ourselves to think upon that 
which maddens and overwhelms us. As in crossing some awful 
precipice the only safety is in fixing your eyes on some distant 
and motionless object, neglecting which, you are precipitated into 
the abyss, so in passing through life, if the soul is diverted from 
heaven and repulsed from earth, concentrated in herself, and in- 
tent on her slender foothold, she reels with fearful giddiness, 

370 



Selections trom Iber Mritines 

and, perhaps, in madness plunges into the gulf of the unknown 
future. 

Another week is gone irrevocably! — how strange that it 
should startle us no more ! Silently and steadily the days glide 
along, stealing from us our youth, digging our graves, and has- 
tening our footsteps toward them, and we, fools that we are, 
heed not the swift-winged messengers. Ye fleeting hours, 
particles of this existence that is wasting so rapidly away, shall 
I permit ye to depart with no record that ye have passed over 
a being like myself, when, like the south wind that sweeps over 
the flowers, thy wings should be laden ? 

i6th. To-day I have read over some old letters, 

Relics of love and life's enchanted spring, 

and thought of my old friends, the dead and the changed ; for 
change or death has them nearly all. I held in my hand words 
traced on the most perishable material, yet even they had sur- 
vived the hearts that dictated, the hands that transcribed them. 
1 read over the gushing and glowing thoughts of those who are 
now as changed and cold to me as I to them, but whom I once 
met delighted and delighting. Bitter, melancholy truth, that 
neither love nor friendship endures ! Time sweeps over and 
buries all, as the clouds of sand sweep over the plains of Egypt, 
burying her magnificent monuments, and gradually entombing 
the pyramids themselves. As the excavator among these relics 
removes the sand and soil, and stands in the presence of the 
past, so I have to-day communed with these specters of love and 
friendship. 

I wish to write here every day, for I think when I have no- 
thing to say, it is evidence that the day has been wasted, and 
who is so rich that he can afford to lose a day ? 

To-day I have painted. What delightful arts are painting and 
poetry ! — with the one we can delineate the forms, and with the 
other the emotions, of beauty. 

lytb. I have just been reading two or three of Hazlitt's es- 
says, where he expresses my feelings almost in my own words. 

37' 



Bnne C. %. JBotta 

How delightful thus to meet with a soul that responds to mine, 
though thousands of miles intervene between the countries of 
our birth, and beyond rises the impassible barrier of the grave! 

As I was walking along on the shore to-day, I found myself 
musing on a notorious instance of unkindness, and asking my- 
self, "What have you to expect from such a world?" — which 
1 think was a very silly question. Of course 1 have nothing to 
expect. And do I ask a reward for whatever good 1 might 
chance to do, in the shape of kindness or gratitude ? Are my 
virtues to be sold even at such prices ? Then are they paltry 
indeed. No ; 1 have nothing to sell. Whatever good I can do 
should be done freely, without hope or reward. If I would live 
aright, self-sacrifice is the first lesson 1 must learn. What a low 
motive for being good, the hope of a reward ! And even if it 
were not a low motive it would be a very useless one, inasmuch 
as the reward is seldom forthcoming. The greatest Benefactor 
of the race, men crucified. Let me endeavor to imitate his 
divine humility and love, and his utter abnegation of self. 

I continue to read Gibbon. When I think of those massacres 
of thousands, each one of whom was a creature like myself, and 
follow the gradual but irresistible march of ages as they move 
on, bearing down empires and trampling on humanity as on 
dust, how do 1 shrink into nothingness ! Oftsn after reading his- 
tory a mental giddiness comes over me, and the world and the 
things in it seem gliding like a moving panorama before me, as, 
after sailing a long time, when we stop, the room takes the 
motion of the boat. 

2^th. This is our first spring day. How delightful it has 
been ! and yet there is always something melancholy in this 
season — to me " the saddest of the year." I just now returned 
from an hour's sitting on the rock by the shore, watching the 
sunset : surely none could be more lovely, Italian or any other. 
I leaned my head back and half closed my eyes ; the clouds 
seemed like islands in some land of enchantment (islands in 
land!), and while 1 sat watching, one after another faded, till at 
last *' they were gone and all was gray." B 's idea of perfect 

372 



Selections from 1F3er Mvitings 

happiness is floating on a cloud with the one we love. Dreamy 
enough, yet I could not give a better definition of happiness. 
There must be moments in love that would atone for a life of 
misery, — that first consciousness of its presence when 

We feel that we adore, 

To such refined excess, 
That though the heart would break with more, 

It could not live with less. 

To feel this must be to feel the concentrated poetry of exis- 
tence. In the desert of life, love is the oasis that we pine to 
reach — that reaching, we weep to part from, and to which we 
still turn back with longing, lingering look. 

As the time approaches for me to leave this place, I grow so 
impatient that it seems to me the next fortnight will never pass. 
How two years of solitude and study have changed me ! How 
gay I was once ! How subdued and sedate I am now ! Those 
that have known me before will scarcely recognize me now. In 
thinking over the list of my early friends, how many have gone 

to their last repose! — only a few weeks since, H , among 

others. She was my earliest friend. How many giddy hours I 
have frolicked away with her ! — yet the last time we met, how 
cold was our meeting, how tearless our parting! We had grown 
strangers. 

April jth. To-morrow I shall leave this "abomination of 
desolation " forever. It will cost me some pain to do so, not- 
withstanding it has scarcely afforded me a happy moment for the 
last two years that I have vegetated here. Perhaps 1 shall be like 
the old prisoner released from the Bastile, who went back and 
begged to die there. 

This is the last page of my journal: I close this and my exile 
together. 



373 



IWotes on Ibistor^ 

History is the record of the collected experience of man in all 
ages. One writer defines it to be " Philosophy teaching by 
example" ; another, " A vast collection of social and moral ex- 
periments, that mankind make involuntarily and often very ex- 
pensively upon themselves." Accepting these definitions, it 
would seem almost inexplicable that the study of history should 
be so neglected, were it not proverbial that we are reluctant to 
avail ourselves of the experience of others, which, as Goethe 
says, " is even like the stern lights of a ship, and sheds no light 
on the path before us." With the exception of a few scholars 
among us, whose lives are devoted to the pursuit of letters, the 
knowledge of history is extremely limited. Isolated names and 
facts, the faint glimmerings of school-boy days, may indeed linger 
in the mind ; Marathon, Thermopylae, Alexander, Caesar, Charle- 
magne, and Alfred may be familiar names to the ear, and yet 
the events and eras in the world's history, the great spirits who 
have created them, their relative connection with one another 
and with our own time, remain a sealed book. History, to be 
comprehended, must be taken as a whole. As in looking at some 
grand historical picture, if we would take in the scope and de- 
sign of the artist, we must first regard the work in its general 
outlines and effect, rather than in detached limbs, figures, or 
groups, which, however worthy of our attention in themselves, 
lose their force and meaning when separated from their natural 
connections. 

Guizot, in his "History of Civilization," speaking of its progress, 
says: "Thus man advances in the execution of a plan which 
he has not conceived, of which he is not aware, and which he 
comprehends by its results alone. Conceive a great machine, the 

374 



Selections from Iber Mrittngs 

design of which is centered in a single individual, though its 
various parts are intrusted to different workmen, strangers, and 
separated from one another, none of these understand the work 
as a whole, which he concurs in producing ; and thus, by the 
hand of man, are the designs of Providence wrought out in the 
government of the world." If this be true, as it must be, — if 
Providence directs the great events that it is the office of the 
historian to describe ; if God dictates what he writes, — it is cer- 
tainly worthy of our profound study and regard. Nature has 
been called "the newly uttered word of God." History is not 
less the continually uttered word of God. And to seek the in- 
terpretation of this revelation is one of the highest offices of the 
human mind. But in another view, history is the very alphabet 
and key of all knowledge : the preliminary step in literature ; 
the foundation without which no permanent superstructure can 
be raised. And to obtain a general knowledge of the great events 
and characters over five or six thousand years of recorded his- 
tory, is in reality a far less difficult achievement than is com- 
monly supposed ; and this should be the work of the first years 
of education. This general knowledge would prepare the mind 
for the reception of details, and for the assimilation of whatever 
nutriment it might derive from them. As the mass of people 
are educated, and as they read, the beautiful and unbroken suc- 
cession of cause and effect, which lies at the foundation of all 
historical development, is overlooked ; and yet no study of his- 
tory can be efficient without the investigation of the succession 
of causes and effects. 

This investigation is the principal object of the philosophy of 
history, of which the Italian Vico was the founder. By tracing 
this principle through the evolution of Roman law, he establishes 
the doctrine of a natural law in historic processes. Human so- 
ciety is based on these fundamental conditions: ist. Worship, 
or the belief in divine power ; marriage, or the restraint of the 
passions; and sepulchral rites, or the belief in immortality. 2d. 
Society has three great periods, the theocratic, the heroic, and 
the humane. 

Whatever may have been man's primal state, when history 

375 



nmc C. X. 3Botta 

first finds him, he is civilized, skilled in arts, governed by laws, 
living in cities, worshiping in temples. The science of history 
is concerned only with man's conditions by social and civil or- 
ganizations, which constitute the State, through which come 
liberty and right. Hence Rome becomes the theme of history, in 
which civil society is realized progress. By surveying the past 
and present of society, we see such evidence of development as will 
warrant us in assuming that progress is the aim and purpose of 
history. But what is progress? To this, various answers have 
been given. According to Hegel, progress has three stages, 
dividing the world's history into three epochs: the period of 
the Oriental nations, when only one was allowed to be free ; 
that of Greek and Roman civilization, when freedom was ac- 
corded to many ; and lastly, the period of the Germanic nations, 
when freedom is seen to be the rightful property of all. A more 
comprehensive term would be: progress in social organization, in 
which liberty is one of many elements ; progress toward a state 
in which nationalities shall no more divide mankind; when the 
human family shall unite in one organic whole, a state embracing 
the greatest freedom of the individual with the greatest compact- 
ness of social union, seeming to all to be of the greatest possible ad- 
vantage in their connection with one another. In this view, every 
epoch of human history is a new stage of social development, and 
every historic evolution exposing the inadequacy of each former 
state, inaugurates a newsociety, and is no exception to the universal 
law that nothing grows without the opposition of contrary ele- 
ments. Regarded from one point of view, war, which occupies so 
large a share in the annals of the world, is a great moral evil. 
But there are holy wars of ideas, principles, and religions. Be- 
sides the antagonism of contrary elements, society is further con- 
ditioned by a principle of alternation within itself which makes 
the historic development of humanity to follow a spiral direction 
rather than an advancement on a straight line. Hence that de- 
velopment is realized through a series of revolutions which now 
speed, now retard, the progress of mankind. It was on this law 
that the immigrations and emigrations developed, colonizing Asia 
Minor, Palestine, Greece, Italy, and made the northern tribes 

376 



Selections from Iber Mrltinge 

descend into Italy to destroy the Roman Empire in its declin- 
ing age ; and it is this identical law that regulates the modern 
migrating epoch now in progress from the Old World to the 
New. Thus, by conflict, alternation, contradictions, and spiral 
revolutions, humanity advances not simultaneously in all its 
faculties, but in one or another, often retrograding in some 
parts, but always advancing on the whole toward an end which 
cannot yet be predicted. . . . 

In studying history we see at once that great and unrecorded 
events had already taken place in the prehistoric period, when, 
in the imperfect light of the Oriental era, the historic scene is first 
revealed to us. Through ages languages had been formed, races 
separated, states established, and laws, customs, religions, and arts, 
had already attained maturity. From this remote antiquity to 
the eighth century before the Christian era, the separated mem- 
bers of the historic family remained in an isolated condition, each 
preparing apart its contribution to the common development of 
the race. And as these nations of southwestern Asia maintained 
their independently different elements of civilization, one by 
one they fell before the attacks of the vigorous mountain races, 
whose descent inspired these luxurious and oppressive nations 
with terror, and whose course they were powerless to resist. 
But above this desolation and despair of the nations were heard 
the voices of the Hebrew prophets, who, alone, saw with the 
eyes of prophecy what we now see inductively, — the great law 
of historic progress. 

The first attempt at centralization is manifested in the Assy- 
rian Empire, which centered at Nineveh, and the second in the 
Chaldean, of which Babylon was the center, differing little from 
the preceding, except in its increasing extent. On the ruins of 
these, Cyrus laid the foundations of the Persian Empire, which 
was to last through twelve centuries, and which brought to 
the civilization of the Semitic race all the peculiarities of the 
Aryan stock; and from the fusion of these races a new, and afar 
higher and richer, civilization was evolved. Later, when Darius, 
threatened with the Scythian hordes from the west and north, 
crossed the Hellespont with his army of eight hundred thousand 

377 



nmc a, X. asotta 

men, arrayed in all the splendor of the Persian equipment, we 
witness one of the first grand steps in the march of Empire. 
This expedition resulted in the conquest of Macedonia and 
Thrace ; and leaving a part of his army to complete his victory, 
Darius returned to his capital at Susa and attempted to organize 
and consolidate his vast dominions, extending from the Caspian 
Sea to the cataracts of the Nile, and from beyond the Indus 
to the shores of the /tgean Sea. He divided them into provinces, 
built post-roads, and established the first rude outlines of Empire. 
This period was the commencement of the fifth century b. c, 
and was signalized by the development of a new element, the 
Spirit of Freedom, hitherto unknown in history. The Ionian 
colonies of Greece, which had been conquered by Croesus and had 
fallen with the Lydian monarchy before the Persian arms, now 
raised in revolt, and pillaged and burned the ancient and beau- 
tiful city of Sardis. This little band, aided by the Athenians, 
met the whole force of the Persian army, and, although they 
were defeated, the indignation of Darius that they should have 
retarded him was not appeased, and he appointed an officer to 
stand at his table and each day to remind him of his vow to 
avenge this insult. His next encounter with the Greeks, on the 
plains of Marathon, was a battle which remains memorable in the 
annals of history. It had been known for ages in the East that 
there existed in Europe states that exchanged their productions 
for those of that country ; and the prophets allude to the people 
of the isles " laying aside their broidered robes and uttering lam- 
entations for the destruction of the great city" (Tyre). Before 
the age of Herodotus we have no Greek history. But suddenly, 
at the close of the Persian war, the Greeks appear before us in all 
the perfection of their splendid civilization. There is, however, 
one great monument of the prehistorical age which gives us a 
vivid picture of their earlier life, differing essentially from the 
character in which they first appear in history. It represents 
them in the heroic age before the arts had been perfected. What 
the sculptures on the grottoes of Beni-Hassan are to the history 
of Egypt, and the inscriptions on the walls of Persepolis to the 
Persians, the Homeric poems are to the history of Greece. . . . 

378 



Botes on poetri? 

Some poems of our day seem to be the wailings of spirits that 
have looked appalled on the realities of life, — on its friendships 
that change, on its love that becomes indifference, on the hollow- 
ness of fame, and on death, the certain and awful consummation 
of this life-tragedy. This is one view of life, but it is not the 
highest nor the truest ; nevertheless it is a view that we must 
take in our ascent to a higher and better one. That glow of 
youthful feeling which paints life as a pastime and a revel, is 
not more false than the despair which succeeds it, when the 
world seems a charnel-house, and life a funeral pageant. The 
valley from which we set forth on our pilgrimage lies bathed in 
sunlight around us ; flowers bloom under our feet with their dew 
unexhaled and their perfume unwasted ; farther on, dark clouds 
gloom heavily over us, and their lightning flashes cast a lurid 
glare over all things; but upward and onward the eternal stars 
shed their cloudless beams, and God and Heaven are above us. 
Not brilliant and rapturous, not hopeless and joyless, but solemn 
and sublime is the pilgrimage of a human soul. It would seem 
that all subjective poetry must be desponding in its tone, and that 
whatever may be the nature of the outward life, no one who 
draws from the inward of his experience will sport in gaiety of 
composition. The authors who have written most of themselves 
are those whose works are the most melancholy. Rousseau, the 
most subjective of late writers, is deeply melancholy, and Byron's 
poetry is that of the individual himself. It is 

Even as a broken mirror, which the glass 
In every fragment multiplies, and makes 
A thousand images of one that was 
The same. 

And that image was himself. 

379 



annc C. %, JSotta 

Objective authors, on the contrary, are those who are inspired 
by the beauties of nature. Chaucer is as buoyant in cheerfuhiess 
as in fancy, and he deals mostly with outward life. A like ten- 
dency in literature might be traced, we apprehend, from the age 
of Chaucer down to that of Byron. But it does not follow that 
we have the individual life either in tiie one case or the other. 
Rabelais was a solemn spirit, and Sterne was through life an un- 
happy man. Cowper, who has throughout written cheerfully, 
was predisposed to gloomy insanity, and more than once at- 
tempted his own life. The cause of this distinction must be that 
subjective writers, taking small account of those passing sensations 
of which life is in a great measure composed, fall back upon the 
boundless and enduring soul which no sensations can fill ; and 
life in this aspect must always be disconsolate. The opposite 
tendency may be equally one-sided, but it is not disheartening. 
Outward existence draws men from the sources of their sorrows, 
and they lose the sense of individuality in sympathy or interest. 
It is well, then, to paint life as it appears to our hopes or to our 
despair ; and as there is nothing absolute in our condition, rel- 
atively, the painting will be true to the reality. The highest 
genius is that which gives us a comprehensive and total hu- 
manity. 

In our later poetry, these two marked and different tendencies 
are apparent, one personal, and the other impersonal ; one which 
breathes out from the individual existence, and the other which 
lives in the imaginative and the ideal. Byron is the highest 
example of the one ; Shelley of the other. Poetry would be 
complete in the union of these two ; in the actuality of Byron 
enlarged and elevated by the grandeur of Shelley, or the spiritu- 
ality of Shelley made incarnate in the force and passion of Byron. 
Should any one arise having affinity with our times, to unite 
these separate tendencies, he will be the true and great poet of 
the age. No era has been when mightier poetic elements existed 
than in the present; but they are chaotic, and await the brooding 
of some great spirit to give them form and utterance. Whether 
such a spirit will arise from the worn-out monarchies of the Old 
World or the free governments of the New, is a point yet to be 



Selections from Iber Mrltlngs 

determined. Miss Martineau, in her "Society in America," after 
speakingof witnessing the process of world-making, both natural 
and conventional, in this country, says: "Some genius will yet 
arise. The expectants take a wail here and a flourish there to 
be the music ; but the hour has not yet struck, the leader has 
not yet come to his place, to strike those chords that must echo 
over the world." 

Mrs. Hemans, one of the most beautiful and gifted spirits of 
the age, is the poet of sentiment rather than of passion ; and the 
same may be said of almost all the female writers of the present 
day. To express the poetry of passion, a certain force is necessary 
that few women possess. To give expression to the perception 
of objective beauty or the beauty of sentiment, is by no means a 
rare power, and requires far less force of original genius than the 
expression of the poetry of passion. The artist, in the one case, 
fashions the statue, perfect, it may be, in its proportions, and 
beautiful in its repose ; in the other, like Pygmalion, he wrestles 
with the gods till he inspires his creation with the Promethean fire. 

I have no doubt that America is destined to produce a litera- 
ture worthy of herself: startling almost as the fust dawning of 
the continent on the eyes of the Old World. She commenced 
her career at once; not as nations have done, in the past. Fet- 
tered by no antiquity, borne down by no hereditary aristocracy, 
humanity here takes a new stand. With the recognition, if not 
the practice, of great principles for the foundation of government ; 
with a magnificent country, whose shores are washed by the 
two great oceans, whose lakes are seas, whose rivers the most 
majestic that water the earth, whose commerce whitens every 
sea, whose railroads and canals, like great arteries, intersect its 
whole surface, and bear life and activity to its remotest corner, — 
here it would seem the human mind is destined to develop its 
highest powers. The materials for a great national literature 
are not yet exhausted. There are sublime moral truths that as 
yet have found no utterance in any literature, but which, when 
spoken in the trumpet tones of eloquence and poetry, must vi- 
brate through the universal heart of humanity. The great end 
of all literature has been to idealize the actual. The new and 

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anne C. %. JBotta 

higher literature must aim at the realization of the ideal. As 
yet there has been properly no Christian literature. The sublime 
truths of the New Testament, the " Peace on earth and good-will 
to men" that was sung by angel voices over the plains of Judea, 
have wakened no echoes in Christendom ; nor could they ever 
in those countries where the divine rights of the many were 
sacrificed to the one or to the few. A new theater, a new world, 
was necessary to the development of those great truths, and 
here, if ever, they must be realized. Every age has had its poets, 
but the present age opens a new era in the history of the race ; 
political and religious freedom have been born, and they require 
stronger nutriment than poetry : they demand philanthropy. 
A nation has arisen and, as if by divine inspiration, declared the 
fraternity and equality of man ; and though the prophet has be- 
lied his utterance, that utterance has gone forth and cannot be 
recalled. Christianity, truth, justice, demand its fulfilment — 
not, indeed, as France demanded it, with the sword and the guil- 
lotine; but by a power mightier than they, by the omnipotent 
spirit of love, of Christian love — that sees in God a common Fa- 
ther, and in his image recognizes a Brother. Our country has 
been the first to declare these truths ; she should be the first to 
put them in practice. If it be true, as they have asserted who 
have scanned closely the annals of the race, that each nation as it 
rises from the bosom of the sea of time and like a mighty billow 
rolls onward and breaks, has a mission to accomplish, an element 
of humanity to develop, as the Greek nation developed the love 
of beauty, the Romans the love of country, — the idea our country 
is destined to realize must be the love of man. This mission she 
is slowly, imperceptibly it may be, but it seems to us surely, ac- 
complishing. And one proof of this is found in the fact that we 
as a people much prefer the work that appeals merely to the love 
of beauty, the work which addresses itself to the whole higher 
nature, that deepens our reverence for God and man, removes us 
from that insignificant center — self, around which we too often 
revolve, unites us to the great brotherhood of men, and attracts 
us to that sublime orbit whose center is God. 



382 



Botes on Hmerfcan dipilisation ^ 

A LATE distinguished critic of ourselves and our institutions, 
while admitting that the United States have solved the social 
and political problem with remarkable success, goes on to exam- 
ine what is done here toward solving the human problem. He 
defines civilization to be the humanization of man in society ; he 
says that the several elements or powers that go to build up a 
complete human life are the power of conduct, of beauty, of 
social life and manners, and the power of intellect and know- 
ledge, and that we are perfectly civilized only when all these ele- 
ments are recognized and satisfied. But the term civilization as 
used in the loosest way by most people, narrows down to a de- 
mand for the comforts and conveniences of life, and to their being 
within reach of persons of limited means. This he does not be- 
lieve constitutes civilization. What human nature demands in a 
high and satisfying civilization is best described by the word in- 
teresting. Do not tell me only of the magnitude of your in- 
dustry and commerce, of the beneficence of your institutions, your 
freedom, your equality, of the great and growing number of 
your churches, schools, libraries, and newspapers ; tell me if 
the civilization, which is the grand name you give to all this 
development, is interesting. He says : The aspiration toward 
a harmony of things which every-day reality denies us, the 
rich and cultivated classes attempt to realize by the splendor 
and refinement of high life, and the interest which this attempt 
awakens in the classes not rich or cultivated, to whom the 
life of the great in castles and palaces appears as a pageant 
and a fairy tale, bears witness to a like imaginative strain 
in them tending after the elevated and the beautiful. The great 

1 A paper read before the "Wednesday Afternoon Club." 
383 



Bnne C. IL. JBotta 

sources of the interesting are distinction and beauty; and he 
goes on to say that the landscape here is not interesting, and 
the chmate harsh and in extremes. The cities have hardly any- 
thing to please a traveler with a natural sense for beauty, and of 
the really beautiful in art or literature very little has been pro- 
duced ; that no people in whom a sense of beauty or fitness was 
great could have invented or could tolerate the hideous names 
ending in villc% and the jumble of unnatural and inappropriate 
names everywhere. As to distinction, everything is against it in 
America, and against the sense of elevation to be gained through 
admiring and respecting. "In short," he continues, "in what 
concerns the solving of the political and social problem, they see 
clear and think straight; in what concerns the higher civilization, 
they live in a fool's paradise." 

Pascal has said that " the succession of men in all ages must 
be regarded as one man who lives always and learns continually," 
but to understand his condition at any one period, we must look 
at him as a whole. It is impossible to judge aright the history 
or civilization of any one country, in its widest sense, without a 
knowledge of its development and progress from the beginning, 
as well as that of all other countries, and of its relation to them 
— as in a great historical picture we grasp the scope and design 
of the artist not by the study of a single figure or group, but 
by regarding the work as a whole. Before, then, we consider 
the question of American civilization, let us give a glance at 
the conditions which have produced it. Let us follow the 
history of the race from its infancy in the remote east, in its 
successive migrations through the despotisms of Asia and Egypt, 
the civilizations of Greece and Rome, their fall before the bar- 
barous hordes of the north, the reconstruction of Europe, and, 
in the middle ages, to the discovery and settlement of a new 
continent under new conditions. We may then ask, if through 
all these various changes humanity has not been steadily ad- 
vancing, whether, in all the varying phenomena and apparent 
confusion that the history of the race presents, there is not a prin- 
ciple of order, an unchanging law, underlying, that reduces it to 
a complete, harmonious, organic whole? — whether, as in the 

384 



Selections from Ibec "Wllrlttngs 

world of matter, the race is moving on in a vast uninterrupted 
evolution from lower to higher conditions, and what position 
our country holds in this onward march toward a more perfect 
unity, and a broader freedom, under the organizing power of 
that Providence 

That out of evil still educes good, 
And better thence again and better still 
In infinite progression ? 

Before the middle of the last century, no attempt had been 
made to reduce the facts of universal history to a science. The 
brilliant historians of Greece and Rome were annalists who nar- 
rated the events of the past, or of their own age, in picturesque 
language and flowing periods ; but their works were narratives 
only, from which they made no attempt to deduce conclusions 
or generalizations. Vico, an Italian, who died in 1774, is regarded 
as the founder of the science of history. His theory was drawn 
from the history of Rome, which he made the typical history of 
mankind, and the periods corresponding to youth, manhood, 
decrepitude, and death were the cycles through which he be- 
lieved nations were destined to pass. But the science of to-day 
opens a wider vista, and shows us that national decay and death 
are followed by resurrection in higher forms. 

Passing over the prehistoric age, when man dwelt in caves 
and clothed himself in the skin of animals, to which he was 
nearly allied, we come to the earliest civilizations of which we 
have any knowledge, those of Asia and of Egypt ; and here we 
find the vast majority of the populations utterly degraded, with 
no community of interests, no national feeling, and no aspiration, 
apparently, for a higher state. They were separated into castes 
as impassable as the line that divides the various species of the 
animal kingdom, and under the absolute dominion of one ruler, 
whose will was law. In India, three fourths of the population 
were slaves. If one of this class presumed to occupy the same 
seat as his superiors, he was exiled or ignominiously punished ; 
if he spoke of them with contempt, his mouth was burned ; if 
he sat on the same carpet, he was maimed for life. If he listened 

"5 385 



Bnnc C. X. J6otta 

to the reading of the sacred books, boiling oil was poured into 
his ears ; if he committed them to memory, he was killed. The 
penalty for murdering him was the same as for killing a cat or 
a dog. He was forbidden to accumulate wealth, and doomed to 
abject eternal slavery. 

In Egypt, too, everything tended to favor the higher caste 
and to depress the lower. The laborer was not allowed to 
change his employment nor to possess land ; he was a beast of 
burden compelled to unremitting and unrequited toil. The 
erection of those stupendous and useless structures that are still 
wonders of the world, are proofs of the tyranny of the rulers and 
the slavery of the people. 

Passing on to the Greek nation we find that they never rose 
to the conception even of national unity ; while within the re- 
stricted limits of their great cities, and amidst the jealousies and ri- 
valries that distracted them, they went through the several phases 
of monarchy, oligarchy, and so-called democracy. Three fourths 
of the population were slaves ; liberty with them was not that 
of the individual, but of the caste or of the nation ; power was 
chiefly confined to the great families, who claimed descent from 
the heroes and to act under their authority. Woman in Sparta 
was brutalized by the laws, and Athens in her great age con- 
demned her to confinement and obscurity. With all the special 
gifts with which they were endowed in literature and in the arts, 
the religious ideals of the Greeks found embodiment in a host of 
divinities whose attributes and characteristics were among the 
lowest that degrade humanity. 

The Romans, in the time of their highest culture, slaughtered 
the generals of their enemies, after dragging them in triumph be- 
hind their chariots; and their prisoners of war were thrown to 
the beasts of the circus — "butchered to make a Roman holiday." 
Under the laws, the father had absolute power over his children ; 
he could sell them as slaves, abandon them to wild beasts, or in- 
flict the punishment of death with his own hand. In marriage, 
the wife was not considered a person ; and over her, the hus- 
band had the power of life and death. Slaves could be tor- 

386 



Selccttons trom "fcer Mrtttngs 

tured and killed for the amusement of their masters, while the 
old were left to die of hunger and exposure. 

With the introduction of Christianity, a new ideal was pre- 
sented to the iiuman race — the Fatherhood of God and the 
brotherhood of man ; and while above the turbulence and disor- 
der of the time this still small voice was heard, its benign ac- 
cents bearing the message of love and brotherhood were little 
heeded, and are even yet far from being realized. The Roman 
Empire at length reached such a vast extent and became so thor- 
oughly corrupt that it fell an easy prey to the vigorous barbarians 
of the north. Then followed the dark ages, centuries in which 
society seemed to be disintegrating and dissolving, and civiliza- 
tion to be disappearing. About the year looo the belief was 
general that the end of the world was at hand. Western Europe, 
where Rome had left the impress of her civilization in the con- 
struction of roads, towns, and cities, had become overgrown with 
forests, with only here and there a convent or a struggling town. 
Intercommunication had almost ceased in it, by the ordeal of fire; 
and boiling water took the place of appeals to the law, which 
seemed almost abolished, and crime and disorder everywhere 
prevailed. 

Then followed the feudal system, under which everything be- 
longed to the king or to the lord, and individual freedom and po- 
litical rights were unknown. By a law called Le droit du Seign- 
eur, when a peasant chose his bride the lord had the first right to 
her virginity. The desire for marriage and the wish to leave de- 
scendants to inherit their miseries, became almost extinct. Hu- 
man ingenuity was taxed to its utmost to invent instruments of 
torture: impaling, tearing to pieces, breaking on the wheel, the 
rack, burying alive, were among the devices to test the degree of 
agony the human frame could endure. While the writers of fic- 
tion have thrown a poetic haze over this period, it was in reality 
a system in which abject slavery formed the lowest grade and 
irresponsible tyranny the highest. 

Even as late as the seventeenth century, the charming Mme. de 
Sevigne relates with approval that a tax of 10,000 crowns had 



387 



annc C. X. JBotta 

been imposed upon the city of Rennes, which, if not paid, was to 
be doubled in twenty-four hours and collected by the soldiers, 
who had cleared houses and streets of their occupants, and forbid- 
den any one, under pain of death, to receive the evicted people ; 
so that old men, children, and women near confinement were 
wandering round, crying, without food or shelter. " Day before 
yesterday," she writes, "a fiddler was broken on the wheel for 
getting up a dance and stealing some stamped paper. He was 
quartered after death, and his limbs exposed in the four corners 
of the city. Sixty citizens have been thrown into prison, and to- 
morrow begins the business of punishing them. This province 
sets a fine example to others, teaching them above all to respect 
their governors." 

The fifteenth century marked a great era in the history of 
humanity. Constantinople, the last stronghold of the Eastern 
Empire, long besieged by the Turks, fell before them, and Greek 
learning and art took refuge in Western Europe. The invention 
of printing came upon the darkness of the middle ages like the 
sun on a polar night. Literature, before confined to manuscripts 
the possession of the learned few, and so precious that a book 
was sometimes accepted as the ransom for a city, was suddenly 
spread abroad ; the human mind was stirred with new impulses, 
and new vistas were opened, along which it rapidly advanced. 
Toward the close of this memorable century, the discovery of a 
new world suddenly broke upon mankind ; and following upon 
these great events came the Reformation, proclaiming the right 
of private judgment in religious belief, breaking the bonds of 
ecclesiastical domination, and opening the way for a still further 
advance. But while we recognize the law of progress, it must 
be observed that the law is also imperative that progress must be 
through conflict. This has never been more forcibly illustrated 
than in the results of the Reformation. For more than a cen- 
tury the great principle it asserted was combated by the most 
cruel and destructive wars that have devastated Europe, laying 
waste cities, towns, and villages, and giving up men, women, 
and children to fire and sword. But the sword of the Spirit is 
mightier than any material weapon ; ideas are the invisible, in- 



Selections from Ibcc imritings 

vincible forces that rule the world; and when in great and 
master minds 

Thought by thought is piled till 

Some great truth 
Is loosened, and the nations echo round 
Shaken to their roots, 

it is vain to seek again to bind or to imprison it. It has be- 
come the property of the race ; years may pass, but, like the 
planted seed, it will germinate sooner or later and bear flower 
and fruit. 

From the Reformation we come to the period called modern 
times. The nations of Europe had emerged from the barbarism 
of the dark ages ; new languages had been refined and perfected, 
literature took form, settled governments were established, and 
society assumed a new aspect. The principles of religious and 
individual liberty asserting themselves in England, brought 
Charles I. to trial, condemnation, and the scaffold ; then, crossing 
the Atlantic, they found their habitation in the New World, there 
to lay the foundations of a government on ideas never before 
proclaimed. 

After the Reformation had asserted the right of private judg- 
ment, the next great phase in the expression of the idea was the 
Declaration of Independence, that the object of governments was 
to secure the rights of the people, from whom alone it derives its 
powers ; and when it becomes destructive of these ends, it is the 
right of the people to alter or to abolish it. These great princi- 
ples here expressed for the first time in the history of the world, 
gave free scope to the individual soul to grow and to expand 
in accordance with the laws of its being ; and to the state com- 
posed of souls so developed, to govern themselves. These prin- 
ciples constitute the foundation-stone of American civilization. 

From this glance over the past, it seems undeniable that the 
great current of events has moved steadily on, and that this 
advance has been in the direction of unity and freedom ; slowly 
it may be, like the glacier, but as surely, as irresistibly. 

The civilization of a country is to be judged by the material, 
25* 389 



Bnnc C. X. 3Botta 

moral, and intellectual condition of its people, the liberality of 
its government, the diffusion of education, and the position it 
accords to woman, compared with other nations in the past or in 
the present age. 

But civilization in America is a fact apart; as we have seen, 
it has no parallel among the nations which have preceded and 
whose accumulated experience it inherited. It was " the heir 
of all the ages." Beginning in the light of the seventeenth 
century, it had no period of barbarism to pass through ; possess- 
ing a continent extending from the tropics to the Arctic circle, 
washed on the east and on the west by the two great oceans, with 
every variety of climate, scenery, and soil, with no hereditary 
rulers, no traditions of birth or of caste, — humanity here makes 
a new departure. Half a century ago, an English traveler writ- 
ing of this country says : "No man can pass over it from east to 
west, from north to south, without bringing away the impression 
that, if on any portion of his earthly creation the finger of God 
has drawn characters that would seem to indicate the seat of em- 
pire, surely it is there." 

Gladstone says of it: " It has a natural base for the greatest 
continuous empire ever established by man" ; and of the Consti- 
tution of the United States, " It is the most wonderful work ever 
struck off by the hand of man." Adam Smith, in his " Wealth of 
Nations," predicts the transfer of empire from Europe to America. 
DeTocqueville says that "since prehistoric times populations have 
moved westward as if driven by the mighty hand of God. The 
world's scepter, as we have seen, passed from Asia to Greece, 
from Greece to Italy, from Italy to Britain, and is now passing to 
the great West." 

This vast area, traversed in all directions by railways and 
waterways, has a soil so fertile that its productions might fill the 
granaries of the world, and yet seven eighths of the arable land 
is uncultivated. Half the gold and silver supply of the world is 
furnished by its mines, and its mining industries are greater than 
those of all continental Europe, Asia, Africa, South America, and 
the British colonies, while the larger part of the mineral wealth 
of the country is undeveloped, and thousands of square miles are 

390 



Selections from "toer Mritings 

unbroken. From 1870 to 1880 the wealth of the nation in- 
creased 175 per cent. 

The charge is brought against our people that they have an 
inordinate love of money, and that they follow this pursuit to 
the exclusion of all nobler passions and tastes. But even if this 
is true, the desire for pecuniary independence is a legitimate and 
worthy one. Without it the mind is degraded by sordid cares and 
the higher powers are paralyzed. Wealth gives to its possessor 
the power to alleviate suffering, to enlarge his experience, and 
to multiply his resources ; it places at his command the treasures 
of art and taste, and all the elements that go to make up the 
fullest and most perfect life. With all the enormous wealth of 
our country spread out before them, and all the facilities for ac- 
quiring it, it would be indeed extraordinary if the people refused 
to avail themselves of it. 

Besides the desire for pecuniary independence, there is also in 
the heart of man an equally strong desire for the possession of 
some portion of the soil for a literal foothold on the globe, which 
assures him a certain dignity of position. While in most other 
and older countries this acquisition is unattainable except for 
those possessed of large means, here a vast domain invites free 
occupation and ownership. The half-brutalized European peas- 
ant, whose progenitors toiled for generations on a master's estate, 
poorly clothed, poorly fed, poorly paid, — here finds free and fer- 
tile lands to reward his labor, free schools to educate his children, 
free institutions to make men and women of them. 

The condition of Europe to-day is that of a vast military camp, 
garrisoned by millions of soldiers armed with the most destructive 
weapons of war ever known, suspiciously watching one another, 
their rulers listening with breathless interest to the utterances 
of the young Kaiser, who proudly calls himself the " War-King," 
and who, at the head of his enormous and well-drilled forces, is 
a constant menace to the nations about him. These millions of 
armed men are taken from the peaceful pursuits of life, and 
forced into wars for territorial aggrandizement, or other causes, 
in which they can have no personal interest. 

The army of the United States consists only of a few thousand 

39' 



Bnne C. X. JSotta 

volunteer troops, for the protection of our western frontier. And 
yet when the moment came that found the institutions of the 
country in danger, the citizens eagerly answered the call, for 
each had a personal interest in the issue ; and when the danger 
was over, and four millions of slaves were made men and citi- 
zens, the Grand Army of the Republic left its million brothers 
" dead on the field of honor," and vanished like a morning mist. 
The citizen soldier had returned to his peaceful occupations, and 
changed his sword and spear into the plowshare and pruning- 
hook. 

In the history of the world the names of a few military heroes and 
conquerors stand out in bold relief: Alexander, who sighed for 
more worlds to conquer ; Caesar, who strove to overthrow the 
liberties of Rome; Napoleon, who overran Europe, and who 
wrote to Talma, " Come to Erfurt and you shall play before a pit 
full of kings " ; Washington, who led a struggling people through 
the gloomy way of our Revolution to independence and nation- 
ality ; Lincoln, commander-in-chief of one of the great armies of 
the world, whose memorable words on the battle-field of Gettys- 
burg were spoken " with malice toward none, with charity to 
all." As civilization advances, and as war comes to be regarded 
in its true light as a relic of barbarism, it is not too much to say 
of these names that " the last shall be first." 

The sense of individuality, of personality, which American civi- 
lization has developed was unknown to the ancient world, and 
is almost impossible in those countries where the system of caste 
prevails, where men live and die in the rank in which they were 
born, where there is little or no sense of common humanity, 
where a hereditary aristocracy has ruled for ages and entailed 
upon all below it an inherent sense of inferiority that could 
only be obliterated by some terrible crisis like the French Revo- 
lution. This sense of equality and individuality leads often, 
doubtless, to a self-assertion not consistent with good manners, 
but which, after all, is less offensive than the assumption of su- 
periority on the one side, or the expression of groveling servility 
on the other, which is invariably found when the class below is 
struggling up and the class above crushing it down. A recogni- 

302 



Selections from "fcer mritin^s 

tion of the rights of others, and a courteous consideration of 
them, is the groundwork of all good manners ; and since these 
principles lie also at the foundation of our government, there 
seems every reason why we should look for a higher type of 
manners here than has existed elsewhere. 

From the beginning, the founders of our government regarded 
education, moral and intellectual, as the first essential for a free 
people; and as the log-cabins rose in the wilderness, side by 
side rose the church and school-house, and from that time they 
have kept abreast with the advancing tide of population. With 
no interference from the government, with absolute religious 
toleration, the churches supported by the voluntary contributions 
of their members to-day number more than 300,000 ; the free 
public schools are estimated to be 180,000, maintained at an 
annual expense of §93,000,000, while 20,000 free schools are 
educating more than a million of the freed slaves ; 25,000 
school libraries contain 45,000,000 books, more than all the 
public libraries of Europe combined ; and §90,000,000 are annu- 
ally spent in the purchase of books, against §80,000,000 spent 
in England. The new Encyclopedia Britannica in its original 
edition and in the several American reproductions found 108,000 
subscribers in the United States. 

We are charged with having no literature and no native art. 
In the struggle for existence that followed the settlement of the 
new country, the conditions for the development of either were 
wholly wanting, and it may be admitted that as yet we take a 
subordinate place in these respects among those nations that 
have had a thousand years to mature ; but, as the increasing 
wealth of the country affords the means of gratifying taste and 
the leisure to enjoy it, we may safely say that works of genius 
will be produced and appreciated. 

Our civilization is still in the formative period; it is a growth 
which in time will have its full development. While other na- 
tions have reached their culminating point in the ages that have 
passed, America is bound to obtain quite as satisfactory results 
in the days that are to come. 

Literature is the expression of national life, and a new national 

393 



annc C. X. JBotta 

lite will doni.uivl ;i corresponding new expression, if" poetry con- 
sists in the glorification of \v.ir. in the expression of national or 
personal ambition, or in the delineation of man as he is or as 
he has b«en, we may not perhaps look for a nobler literature 
than the world now possesses. But if, as some believe, the 
high office of the poet is not to idealize the world as it is, but 
to proclaim that the ideal is the real, the true and only real, 
then there will dawn on humanity the splendor of a new day. 
De Tocqueville, in his " Democracy in America," s;jys in refer- 
ence to our literature: " While the principle of democracy has 
dried up most of the old springs of poetry, it has disclosed new 
ones. The idea of progression, of indetniite perfectability, be- 
longs to a denuvratic people. They care little for what has been, 
but their imagmation of what will be, opens the widest range to 
the genius of the poet and to visions of the ideal : the march of 
a great people across the continent, subduing nature and peo- 
pling its solitudes. While the life of the nation is unpoetical. the 
underlying thought is full of poetry. Hitherto, incidents in the 
life of a nation or an individual have formed the subjects oi the 
great epics ; but the destinies of mankind will be the theme of 
the tuture. Looking at the human race as one great whole, its 
destinies regulated by the s;inie design, they recognize in each 
individual traces of that universal and eternal plan on wliich 
God rules our race. Passions and ideas will be the subject of 
poetry rather than persons and achievements, — man seen for a 
moment on the verge of two abysses and dis;ippearing. Poetry 
will not be fed with legends or old traditions — the poet will 
not people the universe with supernatural beings in whom he 
and his re.iders have ceased to believe, nor coldly personify vir- 
tues and vices ; but the destinies of mankind, man himself in the 
presence of nature and of God, with his passions, his doubts, his 
propensities, and his wretcliedness, will afford new and vast 
themes for poetry." 

Among many other charges, our t'oreign critics accuse us of 
national conceit, of boasting loudly of our country and of its in- 
stitutions; but if the sketch here presented of the nations which 
have preceded us in history is correctly drawn, it our country 

394 



Selectlone from tfct "WacttingB 

has elements of civilization they did not p<jssess, elements that 
tend to advance the human race to a higher level than it has ever 
hefore reached, — why should we affect not to know it, or know- 
ing, seem to undervalue it? There are, however, two standards 
of comparison, the relative and the absolute ; and while under the 
first we may be justified in our national pride, comparing our 
civilization with that absolute, ideal stale, by which is meant the 
state we can all conceive as possible, and which we are as yet so 
immeasurably far from reaching, our attitude is one of profound 
humility. Lxwking forward to this state, the narrow bounds of 
patriotism give way to the thought of that time when all nations 
will form one people, when order and beauty will be evolved out 
of disorder and deformity, when war will cease, and poverty and 
crime disappear. This state, which the ancient poets believed 
had existed in the dawn of the world, they called the golden 
age — the Christian looks forward to it in the far-off future as 
the Millennium, and the science of to-day sees its approach in the 
operation of those immutable laws that held the planets in their 
courses ages before those laws were formulated by the genius of 
Copernicus, Kepler, and Newton. 

Under all the exceptional conditions that have attended the 
establishment of American civilization, it would be extraordi- 
nary if they had not made a distinct mark on the inhabitants. 
It is a fact in physiology, animal as well as human, that the ad- 
mixture of races under favorable circumstances produces superior 
vanities, — a fact easily verified in our national experience. The 
great apostle of evolution says: " The wonderful progress of the 
United States, as well as the character of the people, are the re- 
sult of natural selection ; for the more energetic, restless, and 
courageous men from all parts of Europe have emigrated to that 
great country, and have there succeeded best." Herbert Spencer 
says: "From biological reasons it is to be inferred that the even- 
tual mixture of the allied varieties of the Aryan race forming the 
population, will produce a more powerful type of man than has 
hitherto existed, a type more plastic, more adaptable, more capa- 
ble of undergoing the modifications needful for ajmplete social 
life. I think, whatever difficulties they may have to surmount, 

395 



anne C. X. JBotta 

whatever tribulations they may have to pass through, the Ameri- 
cans may reasonably look forward to a time when they will have 
produced a civilization grander than the world has ever known." 
In this consummation an important factor is found in the 
condition of woman. Nowhere in the world, past or present, 
has she the freedom, the respect, and the condition of equality 
that she has here. To quote again from De Tocqueville: "In 
Europe, a certain degree of contempt lurks in the flattery men 
lavish upon women ; although affecting to be her slave, it is 
clearly seen that they never consider her their equal; here she is 
raised, morally and intellectually, as far as possible to the level 
of men." A drudge in the savage state, a slave or a toy in 
the semi-civilized, and elsewhere always an inferior, here she is 
raised to her true position and dignity. Woman, endowed with 
a more complex organization, finer instincts, a higher emotional 
nature, a deductive reason, is the crown and flower of humanity. 
She is the mother of men. It is proverbial that great men are 
born of great mothers, and when woman comes to understand the 
power and extent of her influence for good or evil — that the edu- 
cation of a child, as some one has said, begins a hundred years 
before birth ; that she must transmit her own characteristics to suc- 
ceeding generations — she will understand how great is the part 
assigned her in the advancement of the race ; the exercise of po- 
litical power, which is sure to come soon, will dwindle in im- 
portance, and she will regard the responsibilities laid upon her 
with reverence and awe. Philosophers tell us that nothing is 
destroyed, that every particle of matter has its place and its im- 
portance, that the destruction of tlie smallest atom would destroy 
the equilibrium of the universe. If, then, the atom has its place 
and its function, how much more is this true of the individual, 
however limited his sphere or capacity? This thought gives new 
value and dignity to the humblest life, and awakens the aspira- 
tion to aid in the great onward movement. In tlie words of Mill, 
" The destiny of humanity is onward. The advance of each in- 
dividual enters as an organic element, advancing and exalting the 
race. Better approximations shall be made, finer realizations, 
nearer approaches to the infinite goal. In ages better than ours, 

y)6 



Selections from "fcer Mrittngs 

generations shall be happier born, with clearer brain and purer 
blood, to whom our words shall seem childish and coarse, our 
conceptions dim and crude ; who shall see where we but grope, 
shall walk and leap where we but totter and fall. The great 
atonement and reconciliation prepared from the foundation of the 
world, shall be wrought out, and life become absolute realization. 
But it shall be by the same method of approach, all things seen 
in relation, lower transcended and cast aside for higher ; attain- 
ment, surrender, pursuit, repose, reality, revelation, seen, unseen, 
blending, dividing, ascending, flowing, soaring onward without 
end." 



^97 



a 5ourne^ to Niagara ifalls 

From my experience, and from my limited observation of hu- 
man nature, I have come to the conclusion that when either 
the masculine or feminine mind once becomes possessed with an 
idea, and with the desire to translate this idea into action, how- 
ever absurd and fantastic it may appear to others, the only ef- 
fectual mode of treatment, as in the case of certain diseases, is 
to let nature take its course, and to allow the idea to become a 
fact of experience. When, for instance, an ambitious youth be- 
comes what is called stage-struck, or affected with a passion for 
the sea, solitary confinement and low diet only aggravate the 
disease, which will be generally found to terminate in a quiet 
departure from the paternal roof some morning before the family 
are stirring. When an individual becomes thus affected, the 
mode of treatment we suggest, which might be called the 
" method of nature," has a twofold advantage. The patient 
may be convinced of his folly, and the adviser may indulge in 
that most satisfactory phrase in our language, " I told you so ! " 
As to advice, the text of Scripture, "It is more blessed to give 
than to receive," will in this be found to be of universal appli- 
cation and adoption ; and the most that can be expected of those 
who disregard it, and follow the " inner light," to use one of 
the cant phrases of the day for self-will, is, that they confess on 
being convinced, and to the " I told you so," reply " You were 
right." In this category I now place myself, and proceed with 
my confession. 

The idea with which I became infected was that of taking 
a journey on foot ; and here I am forced into an acknowledg- 
ment that I would willingly forego, were I not sure of betraying 
myself should I attempt to withhold it — and this acknowledg- 

39S 



Selections from Iber imrttlngs 

ment, dear reader, is this : I belong to the gentler sex. It is a lit- 
tle singular that while it is so common for women to wish, with 
Desdemona, that Heaven had made them men, men on the con- 
trary seem to be always entirely self-satisfied, and never wish to 
change places with us. The idea of a pedestrian excursion in 
search of the picturesque was first proposed in a pleasant circle 
among whom were several artists and amateurs, who were in the 
habit of meeting frequently. " Charming ! " — "delightful ! " — 
was heard on all sides ; but when the moment came for putting the 
idea into execution, it was found that only two had given it serious 
thought; my friend Mr. Cushman the artist and myself alone re- 
mained firm in the resolution of making the attempt. I had heard 
of William and Mary Howitt making the tour of Germany on foot, 
and of the pedestrian capabilities of English ladies in general; and 
wishing to emulate them, as well as being pleased with the novelty 
of such an enterprise, we decided to make the experiment. After 
due deliberation, it was finally agreed that our destination should 
be Niagara, and that we should take the canal at Schenectady, by 
which we could walk or rest, as we chose, or give up walking 
entirely, should we find it necessary. My dear mother, finding 
expostulation vain, at last consented to this arrangement, and to 
making one of the party, for the purpose of matronizing me ; 
though, being in delicate health, she could not anticipate any of 
the pleasure we promised ourselves from the exercise of walking. 
I should premise here that Mr. Cushman and myself are believers 
in the water cure, and the positive benefit we both expected to 
derive from this change of ordinary habits was proportioned to our 
faith in the system. As the time appointed for our departure drew 
near, we found it very difficult to obtain any information be- 
yond what was put forth in a flaming advertisement in the 
papers, announcing that passengers for Buffalo could obtain 
tickets at the office in this city, which would take them the 
whole distance from here to Buffalo in fine packet-boats, duly 
pictured in the paper as attached to horses galloping at full speed, 
for the astonishingly small sum of four dollars ! To the less un- 
sophisticated there would have been something suspicious in this 
extraordinary cheapness ; but innocent of any thought of im- 

399 



anne Q, X. JBotta 

position, we set forth. Our passage-tickets up the river destined 
us to the steamboat Belle, and Mr. Cushman being a stranger 
here, and I not aware that this was not one of the first-class of 
our unrivaled North River boats, we accordingly drove to the 
wharf where she was lying. 1 would not say anything derogatory 
to the character of the Belle, but Ma, who has an eye for neat- 
ness and a taste for agreeable surroundings, at first strenuously 
refused to proceed by that means of conveyance ; but it was 
doubtful if we could reach the other boat in time, and being 
convinced that worse was to come in the " hereafter," we con- 
cluded to make this first step in our descent to packet-boat traveling. 
On reaching the depot at Schenectady we were beset by a ban- 
ditti, apparently, though known by the name of " runners," whose 
office was to secure passengers for the various boats to whose in- 
terests they were attached. This process is very like that employed 
to entrap certain animals — by stunning them first, and capturing 
them afterward ; for they actually so confound the unwary traveler 
who finds himself the bone of contention among them, by their 
abuse of one another, their noise and their impertinence, that he 
falls an easy victim to the boldest, and is quietly led off, glad 
to escape. Thus we found ourselves and our luggage finally be- 
stowed in a nice and comfortable-looking boat, just ready to set 
out, when Mr. Cushman accidentally showing the passage-ticket 
we had procured at the New- York office, and which we had been 
assured would take us on any boat on the canal, the captain 
denied any knowledge of such an office, or such an agency, and 
refused to take us at all, without full fare being paid over again. 
Highly indignant, we immediately left the boat and ordered our 
effects to be sent after us. The captain, equally indignant at not 
having secured us, managed to remove his boat to some distance 
from the bank, to which he then pitched our trunks with all the 
momentum that could be brought to bear upon them. The 
banditti rushed upon us again, and commenced vociferating 
louder than ever. Mr. Cushman was pale with suppressed rage, 
and Ma with agitation, while I was not a little excited and in- 
finitely amused. At length the captain of a new boat, just 
starting, agreed to take us for the ticket we had paid for, 

400 



Sclccttons from 1ber lUlrltings 

though we were afterward convinced that it was of no value to 
him, and that we had been grossly imposed upon at the office 
in New-York ; in short, we were actually embarked, and ad- 
vancing toward Niagara at the enormous velocity of three miles 
an hour. I was amused to observe Ma looking cautiously around 
for a seat, and taking her handkerchief to dust before occu- 
pying it, while I immediately doffed my civilized costume, 
exchanging my Middleton gaiters for a pair of " seven-league 
boots " bought for the occasion, and my traveling-dress for a 
morning-gown ^i25s^^. Thus adapted to my circumstances, I felt 
equal to any emergency, and looked, as Mr. Cushman said, " the 
genius of the place." At the close of the first day we had ac- 
complished twelve miles on foot, coming on board the boat at 
frequent intervals to rest ; and at night we were prepared to 
enjoy a profound repose, " cabined, cribbed, as we were." 

A day on board a canal-boat may be described, but language 
is wholly inadequate to convey any idea of a night ; it is one 
of those passages in life that must be experienced to be under- 
stood. I will only say, therefore, that after our vigorous exer- 
cise we slept even there as soundly as the seven sleepers, though 
our slumbers were less protracted, as we usually rose as the 
first streak of dawn appeared ; and after a walk of five or six 
miles, returned to the boat in time for breakfast, with appetites 
that would have given great uneasiness to the captain had not 
our meals, luckily for him, been an extra charge. The scenery 
through which the canal passed was in general tame and uninter- 
esting, but there were passages of exquisite beauty ; and in the 
alchemy of sunset, the gray light and the repose of early morn- 
ing, or seen beneath the veil of silver moonlight, the commonest 
woods and hills were picturesque and beautiful. The scenery 
near the village of Little Falls, in the valley of the Mohawk, 
abounds in bold and striking features, and was more romantic than 
any through which we passed. But wherever there is the ex- 
panse of sky above and of field and wood below, though they 
may not be disposed with reference to pictorial effect, yet the 
true lover of nature will find there beauty and companionship. 
Communion with Nature, even in her most unattractive form, 
26 401 



Bnne C. %, JBotta 

brings us nearer to her great Author than the contemplation ot 
the most magnificent works of man. They ally us to our 
kind, — we participate in their aspirations and their triumphs, — 
and, the bond of our common nature is drawn more closely, 
while with Nature nothing intervenes between us and her 
Author. A German poet has called Nature " the freshly uttered 
word of God ! " and whenever we are with her, that word, if 
we listen, becomes audible, and to the reverent ear speaks mes- 
sages of love, of consolation, and of hope. 

As we approached Salina, we were sufficiently in advance of 
the boat to stop and examine the salt works, where thousands 
of barrels are every year manufactured. Immense flats are cov- 
ered with reservoirs ten or twelve feet square, which are sup- 
plied with water from the salt springs, the evaporation of which 
leaves a deposit of delicate white crystals, which is afterward 
refined and barreled for exportation. The second and third days 
of our journey we advanced twenty miles each day on foot, 
without experiencing any other than that healthy and pleasant 
fatigue which makes repose so delightful, and which is so dif- 
ferent from the exhaustion and lassitude one feels after a walk 
through Broadway. At noon on the fourth day we found our- 
selves at Fairport, a small town eighteen miles from Rochester 
by the canal, but ten only by the stage road. We had already 
walked ten miles since morning, and this distance would finish 
the day so roundly that we determined to undertake it, though the 
afternoon was warmer than any we had experienced on our route. 
The country was hilly, and sandy, and without shade, and we 
found it much more difficult to walk ten miles without resting, 
for we had previously taken frequent intervals of repose; and for 
the first time my companion began to flag, and my own elasti- 
city to give way. By way of stimulating our failing energies, I 
began reciting, and went through all the stirring poetry I could 
call to mind from " Lochiel's Warning" and the "Battle of Hohen- 
linden " to " Macaulay's Roman Ballads." When at length we 
reached the suburbs of Rochester — the novelty of our descent upon 
a strange town — our own costume and travel-worn appearance, 
the fancy that we might be taken for wandering minstrels or 

402 



Selections from Iber "Wllritings 

strolling players, altogether so appealed to our sense of the quix- 
otic and the ludicrous, that it was some time before we could 
command the requisite dignity to make the grand entree. We 
found the boat had not yet arrived, and so we occupied the interval 
in looking about the city, for we were by this time in the condi- 
tion of the famous cork leg ; we had walked until it became 
less fatiguing to continue than to stop. Since I am at the con- 
fessional, I may say here, that had I followed the advice of my 
companion, or listened to my own better judgment, we should 
have taken some conveyance on the road when we found our 
walk becoming too long for our strength ; but experience, though 
often so dear, is worth all that we pay for it. On rejoining our 
compagnotis dc voyage, I began to feel the effect of my over-ex- 
ertion, which manifested itself not in muscular fatigue, but in 
excessive nervous excitability ; my brain seemed to be describing 
spiral curves, my hands trembled, and occasionally a frightful 
sensation of departing consciousness stole over me, all of which 
was greatly aggravated by my efforts at concealing it from the 
watchful eye of my mother. 1 privately begged Mr. Cushman to 
procure a phial of laudanum before we left the wharf, and the 
dose that I took, with a view of composing my disordered nerves, 
only added to the difficulty, so that after a sleepless night, I rose 
the next morning positively ill. 

I could, of course, expect no sympathy from our fellow-trav- 
elers, who were, I am sure, not a little gratified to witness the 
fulfilment of their reiterated prophecies, and to behold me reap- 
ing the reward of my foolhardiness ; and the compliments, pre- 
scriptions, and advice, with which it is usual on such occasions 
to overwhelm the invalid, were wholly omitted in my case. 
The truth is, I was unpopular, notwithstanding my attempts to 
be kind and conciliating. There is something in the unloving 
glance of the human eye peculiarly painful to me, and which I 
would always, if possible, avert, even in the case of the humblest 
individual, but here I was wholly unsuccessful. My presumption 
in daring to act differently from them in any particular, even the 
simple one of walking a few miles, was an unpardonable offense, 
and not to be tolerated. Public opinion was as powerful a ruler 

403 



Bmie C. X. 3Botta 

here as elsewhere. 1 was particularly unfortunate in drawing 
upon myself the disapprobation of the two chambermaids, who 
governed with despotic rule; and who, being exceedingly inti- 
mate with the others, seemed to delight in making me the scape- 
goat of all their ill-humor. From the first I had treated them with 
uniform kindness and consideration, which seemed only to ex- 
asperate them still more, by leaving them without the shadow 
of excuse for their impertinence. The captain would have dis- 
charged them forthwith, I am certain, had I represented to him 
their conduct in its true light, for he seemed exceedingly desir- 
ous of making our journey as agreeable as circumstances would 
permit. I preferred, however, to let things take their course, 
and to study human nature under this new aspect, though it 
certainly was a most unattractive one. I had always been a firm 
believer in the law of love, and convinced that love alone was 
omnipotent to overcome hatred and malignity ; but my observa- 
tions on this occasion led me to different conclusions — to the 
belief that there are cases where power must take precedence of 
love, and despotism of magnanimity and generosity; and that 
there are inferior natures on whom these higher virtues are lost, 
and who must be controlled by the force of superiority. One of 
these two damsels who presided over the feminine department 
of the boat had one night planted her mattress, and herself upon 
it, directly under the shelf upon which I was to sleep, so that it 
was impossible for me to approach it without almost stepping 
upon her. As there was sufficient space beyond, I civilly re- 
quested her to move, and as she deigned no answer, I repeated 
the request, accompanied by some remonstrance and expostula- 
tion, when she finally turned to me, and said with a look and 
tone the impudence of which was inimitable : " You 'd better go 
to bed!" I was absent so frequently from the boat, and thus 
beyond their spiritual spheres for the greater part of the time; 
1 had thrown myself so entirely into the discomforts about me, 
and had so resolved to enjoy them, that the two chamber- 
maids rampant, instead of being a source of annoyance, added 
not a little to my amusement. It was a curious study to see 
what they would do next. 

404 



Selections from Iber IClrttlngs 

I like to test my capacity for endurance, and if one can sur- 
vive five days' sojourn on a canal-boat, without having lost 
temper or spirits, he may endure anything he will be likely to 
encounter afterward. However, much of my buoyancy was 
doubtless the result of my extraordinary muscular exertion in 
the pure air, and the entire change of my ordinary habits; I 
seemed to have returned to primitive and savage life, and almost 
dreaded to come back to civilization and brick walls. I like also 
to reduce my wants to the lowest terms, to see how little is ab- 
solutely essential, and how much can be dispensed with without 
causing positive unhappiness. It is a kind of experiment, how- 
ever, that is not likely to become very popular, though in my 
own case I have found it extremely beneficial ; and as the con- 
strained and painful attitudes that professional dancers subject 
themselves to in the laborious practice they daily go through, 
will give them command of muscle and grace of movement, so 
this voluntary penance prepares one for the thousand annoyances 
of daily life. It acts on the same principle as a cold bath in the 
morning, which, though it requires some courage to go through 
with, yet fortifies one against the chills and changes of the suc- 
ceeding day. 

On the morning of the fifth day we reached Buffalo, and with 
my canal-costume I laid aside the high spirits and the wild gai- 
ety with which 1 had worn it. Having slept the night before 
between an open door and window, I woke with a violent cold, 
which, added to my previous indisposition, rendered me quite 
tame and manageable. 

The genii of the boat, the two fair chambermaids, manifestly 
changed their bearing as their reign drew near its close, and 
became as officious and servile as they had before been disagree- 
able ; but as it usually happens with tyrants, their repentance 
came too late, and they would have left a far better impression on 
my mind if they had held out to the last as they had begun. 
On reaching the hotel at Buffalo, with its airy rooms, its veritable 
mattresses, and gbundant water, the delight we experienced was 
sufficient to compensate for our late deprivations in those lux- 
uries, had we had no other compensation. In continued enjoy- 
26* 405 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

ment we cease to appreciate the blessings that overwhelm us, 
and we ought to dispense with them occasionally for the mere 
luxury of higher appreciation. 

At Buffalo we took the steamboat for Niagara, which landed us 
two or three miles above the Falls. As we were nearing our des- 
tination, Mr. Cushman threw out the comfortable suggestion that 
we were now in the current of that arrowy stream, and that if any 
of the machinery were to give out, or the boat in any way to 
become disabled, we should, inevitably, not only go to the Falls, 
but over them. This fact was so obvious, that although we 
felt no positive fear, yet we had a more pleasant sense of secur- 
ity when we were once more on terra Jirina. We arrived at the 
Cataract House, after our long journey, in rather a subdued state 
of feeling. Our spirits seemed to have effervesced, and left us 
in the condition of champagne that has stood uncorked over 
night. I had visited the Falls once before, and the impression 
they had left upon me was vividly retained. My sense of the 
ideal, the sublime, the infinite, had been filled, and tears had 
been the only power of expression left to me ; and now for many 
months I had felt an intense longing to renew these emotions, 
and to feel myself once more lifted for a moment beyond the 
present and the actual. My two companions had never visited 
the Falls before, and so I was entitled to their experience in ad- 
dition to my own. But there was among us all an ominous 
want of enthusiasm that argued ill for any original manifesta- 
tions of feeling, and the paramount thought of creature comfort 
apparent was shocking in the extreme. Ma and Cushman were 
suffering the consequences of their fatigue ; and I with my cold 
and illness felt as incapable of emotion of any kind as if I had 
been turned by machinery from one of the trees in our path. 
We made an attempt to see the Falls before the dinner-hour, but 
after advancing a short distance we seated ourselves on a rustic 
bench, and unanimously confessed ourselves unfit to proceed. 
In the course of a few hours, however, they rallied and came 
up to the high-water mark of enthusiasm ; but the effect on 
me was altogether painful, giving me the idea of vastness and 
terror only. At night, when I attempted to sleep, these im- 

406 



Selections from Iber WlritinQS 

pressions returned with such force that I awoke distressed and 
terrified. I seemed to stand on the bank of some frightful preci- 
pice, of which Niagara was only a miniature, and over whirlpools 
black and deep as the bottomless pit. The roar of the rapids and 
the Falls strengthened the illusion of my fancy, and after two 
nights spent in these chaotic and awful scenes I could endure 
it no longer, and the third day we took the cars for Lewiston, 
with the intention of returning the Jiatural way, or, in other 
words, by railroad. Our journey was varied by no incidents 
or accidents; after dining at Troy, and walking about that 
pleasant little city, we took the cars for Greenbush, opposite 
Albany, from whence a ferry-boat was to convey us over the 
Hudson to take the evening boat. On this ferry-boat we were 
safely deposited, and waited impatiently for the officiating 
Charon to set out, for at least three-quarters of an hour. To our 
repeated intimations that we should be too late for the boat, he 
only replied : " You will be in time." The cause of this deten- 
tion must forever remain among other unsolved mysteries ; and 
the effect was that when we at last reached the wharf at Albany, 
finding no carriages, we were hurrying along with all possible 
speed, bag and baggage following us, when several voices saluted us 
with: "She's off!" " The boat has just left ! " Truth obliges me 
to confess that for a moment my patience and temper gave way; 
but a conviction of the utter absurdity of railing, or doing any- 
thing but quietly submitting to this mysterious dispensation, 
finally prevailed, and we took our way to the Delavan House, 
three silent and crestfallen individuals. 



407 



IRcwport jfortv lt)car3 Boo 



From the miJille of July until the first of September, Newport 
is at its flood-tide of gaiety and fashion. All parts of the Union, 
all classes of men, women, and children, all peculiarities of in- 
dividual character, have their full representation, and studies 
abound. It is a general remark that persons learn more of one 
another from traveling together for a short time, than from long 
and intimate acquaintance in the routine of ordinary life ; and 
this remark applies with equal force to a temporary sojourn at a 
watering-place. Thrown off their accustomed track, seen in the 
light of new circumstances, people daguerreotype themselves 
when they are least aware of it, and at moments when they 
think least of sitting for their portraits, which, of course, are not 
always from the most favorable points of view, and therefore, to 
me, not the most pleasant. 

A lady, not long ago, assured me that the White Mountains 
were becoming more fashionable every year, and I was about 
to repeat her remark with regard to Newport, which really 
seems every year to become a more favorite resort. Ornamental 
cottages, built in the most perfect taste, are springing up in 
various parts of the island, and for three or four months in the 
year they are the residences of some of the most distinguished 
families in the country, while the transient visitors who come to 
Newport for a few weeks or days number many thousands. The 
beach is unrivaled in its hardness and beauty, above all, in its 
safety, and from ten to twelve o'clock in the morning it presents 
a most lively and exciting scene. The bathing costume, which 
is frightfully unbecoming, is fortunately an effectual disguise, 
and the gay groups that issue from the bathing-cars, and bound 
with white feet over the sparkling sands to "wanton with the 
breakers," seem like unknown genii from the coral caves. A 
408 



Selections from 1ber IHflrttinQS 

gentleman remarked to me, in view of those who came dripping 
from the foam of the sea, that hereafter he renounced his belief 
in the old Greek fable of the origin of Venus. In the afternoon, 
the scene on the beach is scarcely less animated. Its smooth, 
hard surface forms a most delightful drive, and splendid equipages, 
and vehicles of all descriptions, equestrians and pedestrians, give 
it great variety and life. Unlike most other watering-places, 
however, the attractions of Newport are entirely independent of 
the thousands who annually seek health or pleasure in its de- 
licious air and its white-crested waves. Notwithstanding the 
almost entire absence of trees, the scenery of the island is re- 
markably picturesque. The undulating fields are covered with 
luxuriant grain, the cows and sheep feed upon the hills, the 
cliffs rise dark and frowning upon the shore, meeting unmoved 
the impotent fury of the angry waves, and around lies the all- 
embracing sea, restless as the heart of man, mysterious as its 
desires, and boundless as its aspirations. Aquidneck, the Indian 
name of the island, which signifies the Isle of Peace, seems par- 
ticularly well adapted to this beautiful spot. 

Hail, pleasant isle ! as freshly shine to-day 

The sky, the beach, the breaker, and the bay, 

As when, slow curling o'er the oak-wood's green, 

Miantonomo's council-smoke was seen. 

And in these waters bathed their locks of jet, 

Thy dusky daughters — old Metaunamet ! 

Though gone thy ancient name — thine ancient race — 

Not yet is fled the genius of the place. 

Though the pale settler's a.x, and war's rude hand. 

Have felled the sylvan monarchs of the land — 

And though a skeleton, the sycamore 

Moans in the wind and finds his leaves no more — 

Though the light deer no more thy green sward tread, 

And many a song of olden days is fled — 

Yet there 's a glory haunts thy sapphire sky. 

Thy emerald slope and swell, not soon shall die. 

So sings the poet who has made his home here, and whose 
sweet notes reach us from time to time, like the mysterious 
music of Pascagoula, which he has so well described. 

409 



Mnnc (I. X. JBotta 

Newport was formerly the residence of many Jews ; and the 
Jewish burial-ground, with itsclassic entrance, sculptured with the 
inverted torch, is a prominent feature of the town. The synagogue, 
however, has been closed for some time. The Redwood Library 
here was one of the earliest founded and best selected in the coun- 
try; and although it was greatly injured by the English while 
the island was in their possession during the Revolutionary War, 
even now the scholar may devote himself, with great advantage, 
to its dusty volumes. Not far from the town is Tonomy or Tam- 
many Hill, which was strongly fortified by the English, and the 
form and boundaries of the old intrenchments are yet visible. 
The name is a vulgar abbreviation of Wonnumetonomy, who was 
the resident sachem or governor of the island at the time it was 
purchased by the first settlers, and whose wigwam was situated 
here. The Aquidnecks, or original natives of the island, were 
conquered by the Narragansetts some time before the settlement 
of Plymouth, and remained tributaries to them until the white 
inhabitants took possession of it. Newport is rich in romantic 
and historic associations. A few miles from town is Vaucluse, 
a most lovely villa, built some years since by an English gentle- 
man of fortune, who gave it this name from the real or fancied 
resemblance of his woes to those of Petrarch. His, however, 
were not " melodious tears," and, consequently, he has not 
"given himself to fame." 

Beyond what is called the Second Beach, is a vast chasm in 
the rock, known as Purgatory. Within this gloomy abyss the 
water is said to be fathomless, and the spectator is thrilled with 
horror as he gazes over the black depths that seem yawning to 
engulf him, and where the sea howls like some angry monster. 
One legend attached to this place is, that through it the great 
Adversary, once upon a time, returned to the infernal regions, 
and a more appropriate place for his exit could not be con- 
ceived. It is also celebrated as the scene of a lover's leap. The 
tradition runs thus: A beautiful and capricious heiress, rambling 
on the cliffs with her lover, demanded, as a test of his devo- 
tion, that he should leap across the abyss. He accomplished 
the feat, but it placed between the lovers a chasm far wider 

410 



Selections from Ibec Ximritings 

than that of Purgatory; for from the bank he had miraculously 
gained, the lover made his particular parting compliments to the 
lady. A singular incident is recorded in the early history of . 
Newport, which comes down well authenticated, and which loses 
none of its interest from the seventy or eighty years that have 
elapsed since it occurred, and which have failed to throw any 
light on the mystery. The farmers and fishermen one morning 
discovered a vessel under full sail, with her colors flying, making 
rapidly toward the shore, which, at that point, was considered 
inaccessible. The inhabitants gathered in crowds upon the beach, 
expecting every moment to witness the destruction of the ves- 
sel, which seemed guided by unseen hands, and which, gliding 
between the rocks and billows, at last reached the shore in per- 
fect safety. No one appearing on the deck, she was boarded. Cof- 
fee was found boiling on the fire, and everything seemed to be 
prepared for the breakfast of the crew ; but with the exception 
of a dog, no living thing appeared on board of her. There had 
been no storm on the coast, the vessel was in good condition, 
and to this day there has been no satisfactory conjecture as to 
the fate of its crew. 

Two or three miles from Newport is the house built by the 
celebrated Berkeley, and occupied by him during his residence in 
this country, and to which he gave the name of Whitehall. It 
is a modest, unpretending cottage, standing some distance from 
the road, and beneath a hill which commands an extensive pros- 
pect of the island and the ocean. The reason he gave for not 
choosing this site in preference to the one he did was that the 
view, constantly before him, would have given him far less 
pleasure than the occasional enjoyment of it, stopping, as he al- 
ways did, on the summit of the hill when he left or returned 
to his house. His object in coming to this country, as is well 
known, was to found a college at Bermuda, for the education of 
the original " native Americans." The English government had 
made a large appropriation for this object, and Berkeley embarked, 
in the year 1728, with a corps of scientific and literary men. 
Having lost their way for some time in a dense fog, when it dis- 
persed they found themselves in Narragansett Bay. On landing, 

411 



Bnne C. %, JBotta 

Berkeley determined to make this island the seat of his institu- 
tion. After waiting patiently for two years to receive the prom- 
ised appropriation, he was finally obliged to return, and to 
abandon his benevolen-t scheme. Not far from the house he oc- 
cupied are the hanging rocks, gigantic masses which overlook 
the sea, and in one of the clefts or alcoves of which he composed 
his "Minute Philosopher." On my recent visit to the house, the 
worthy farmer who is its present owner told me that he had 
great difficulty in keeping the old mansion in repair ; that he 
had had serious thoughts of tearing it down, but a gentleman 
came there one day, a "furriner," who said that the man that tore 
down that house ought to be hung, upon which he decided to 
reconsider the case. Berkeley, on his departure, presented to 
Yale College the house and farm, consisting of one hundred 
acres, together with a library of a thousand volumes. The organ 
of Trinity Church, still in use, is also his gift. 

The English had possession of the island three years, from the 
commencement of the Revolutionary War to the autumn of 1779- 
During this time they cut and consumed all the ornamental and 
forest trees, with many of the valuable orchards ; and, contrary 
to the usages of civilized nations, they carried away the town 
records. 

Newport, even at this period, was the chosen resort of the opu- 
lent and educated ; and in colonial importance second only to Bos- 
ton. Many of its inhabitants were from the aristocratic families 
of England, and it was regarded as the center of fashion, refine- 
ment, and taste. In the summer of 1780, the French fleet and 
an army of six thousand men arrived at Newport, under the 
command of Admiral de Ternay and Count de Rochambeau, and 
many are the pictures which remain in the imaginations of the 
daughters and granddaughters of the beauties of that day, of 
the dinners, balls, and fetes in honor of our gay and gallant allies. 
The admiral died soon after his arrival in Newport, and his re- 
mains still repose in Trinity churchyard, beneath the monument 
of black marble once inscribed in letters of gold, which was 
sent over by his unfortunate king. 

On the northwest side of the island stands the house which 
412 



Selections from Iber 'GGlritings 

was occupied as the headquarters of the English commander, 
General Prescott. The harbor was filled with the enemy's ships, 
and the island with their troops ; but Colonel Barton, of Provi- 
dence, formed the bold resolution of capturing the general. A 
dark night was chosen for the enterprise ; and with a few volun- 
teers the gallant colonel embarked in a small boat, and with 
muffled oars they noiselessly made their way to the shore. They 
reached the general's house, silenced the sentinels at the door, 
surprised the general in his bed, and giving him only time to 
put on his small clothes, without shoes, coat, or chapeau, they 
assisted him very rapidly through the rye-fields that lay between 
them and the water; and while the drowsy sentinels of the 
English fleet cried "All 's well ! " they passed under their bows, 
and safely regained the opposite shore. The general, taken thus 
ingloriously, lingered in confinement until he was exchanged for 
a prisoner of equal rank. 

Newport has been the birthplace and residence of many dis- 
tinguished men. General Greene resided here for many years 
with his family, and the mansion he occupied is still pointed 
out. The gallant Perry was born and educated here, and a 
monument, erected by the State, marks the place of his repose. 
The eminent Dr. Stiles, afterward president of Yale College, was 
for many years pastor of the Congregational Church in Newport; 
as was also the venerable Dr. Hopkins, the founder of the Hop- 
kinsian sect. The Rev. Arthur Brown, afterward president of 
Trinity College, Dublin, was born and educated here. The la- 
mented Dr. Channing was also a native of this island. He thus 
describes the influence of its scenery, in his own chastened and 
earnest eloquence : 

In this town I pursued my theological studies, I had no professor to 
guide me, but I had two noble places of study — one was yonder beau- 
tiful edifice now frequented as a public library, the other was the beach, 
the roar of which has so often mingled with the worship of this place — 
my daily resort ; dear to me in the sunshine, still more attractive in the 
storm. Seldom do I visit it now without thinking of the work which 
there, in the sight of that beauty, in the sound of those waves, was car- 
ried on in my soul. No spot on earth has helped to form me so much 

413 



nnnc a. X. JSotta 

as that beach. There I lifted up my voice in prayer amid the tempest ; 
there, softened by beauty, I poured out my soul in thanksgiving and 
contrite confessions. There, in reverential sympathy with the mighty 
power around me, I became conscious of the power within. There, 
struggling thoughts and motives broke forth, as if moved to utterance 
by Nature's eloquence of winds and waves. There began a happiness 
surpassing all worldly pleasures, all gifts of fortune — the happiness of 
communing with the works of God. 

Nor are the arts without their representatives. Stewart, Mal- 
bone, Allston, were either natives or residents of the island. It 
is said of Malbone, whose exquisite miniatures are so valued, and 
whose celebrated work, " The Hours," is still the pride of his 
native town, that going to London for the purpose of improving 
in his profession, he was presented to West, who, after examin- 
ing some of his miniatures, inquired for what purpose he had 
come to England ; and when Malbone replied, to perfect himself 
in the art of painting, he answered: "Sir, you can go home 
again; for a tnan who can paint such pictures as these need not 
come to England for instruction." It is pleasant to know that 
the reputation of Newport, as far as the fine arts are concerned, 
is not likely to degenerate. Stagg, a most promising and suc- 
cessful young painter, already approaches Malbone very nearly in 
excellence of coloring and delicacy and force of expression. The 
late Baron of Kinsale was a native of Newport. In the early part 
of the eighteenth century, his father, the younger brother of the 
Baron of Kinsale, emigrated to America for some private reasons, 
and fixed his residence at Newport. He came with small means 
of support, which being exhausted, he was obliged to become a 
day-laborer in order to obtain subsistence. It is probable that 
he married here, though from the destruction of the records it is 
impossible to determine. His eldest son was bound an appren- 
tice on board a merchantman belonging to this port, and was 
serving in the forecastle when the news of his uncle's death 
reached him. By this event he became Premier Baron of Ireland, 
with the hereditary privilege of wearing his hat in the royal 
presence. He retained a strong attachment to his native land; 
and no Rhode Islander, to his knowledge, approached within 

414 



Selections from Iber IClrltlngs 

fifty miles of his residence without receiving an invitation to his 
hospitable mansion ; and the worthy captain to whom he was 
apprenticed, received from him annually a cask of wine until the 
period of his death. 

Any sketch of Newport which did not include a particular ac- 
count of the Old Stone Mill would be like the play with the part 
oi Hamlet \di out. This singular edifice has excited more cu- 
riosity, interest, and speculation than any other remaining in our 
country. Although it may have been used as a windmill, there 
is every probability that it was erected for some other purpose ; 
and various are the conjectures as to what this purpose might 
have been. No similar structure is to be met with in any section 
of the country. Had the English found it here, it would seem 
that they would have made some allusion to it ; and had it been 
erected subsequently, so singular a piece of architecture could 
scarcely have failed to excite a passing notice. The most reason- 
able suppositions with regard to this relic of another age are that 
it was either of ante-Columbian origin and built by the North- 
men during their visit to this new world, which it is now gen- 
erally admitted that they made, or it was erected for a fort by 
traders who might have visited the island previous to its settle- 
ment in 1638. A particular description of this structure has been 
transmitted to the Royal Society of Antiquarians at Copenhagen : 
and from this, Professor Rafn, one of the most learned antiquarians 
of Europe, in an article of great ability, has aimed to prove its 
Scandinavian origin, and to identify it with similar edifices erected 
in the north of Europe previous to the twelfth century. He says : 
" There is no mistaking, in this instance, the style in which the 
more ancient stone edifices of the North were constructed, which 
belongs to the Roman or ante-Gothic architecture, and which, 
especially after the time of Charlemagne, diffused itself from 
Italy over the whole of the north and west of Europe, where it 
continued to predominate until the close of the twelfth century ; 
that style which some authors have, from one of its most striking 
characteristics, called the round-arch style, which in England is 
denominated the Saxon, and sometimes the Norman, architecture. 
From the characteristics of the ancient structure of Newport, I 

4'5 



Bnnc C. 3L. JBotta 

am persuaded that all who are familiar with old Northern archi- 
tecture, will concur that this building was erected at a period 
not later than the twelfth century." The learned professor next 
brings forward three ancient edifices in Denmark belonging to 
this period, and also a structure among the ruins of Mellifont 
Abbey, which in the general principles of their construction bear 
a strong resemblance to the Old Mill, He goes on to prove that 
Bishop Eric made a voyage to the shores of Narragansett Bay in 
the early part of the twelfth century, and that while there he 
probably erected the building in question, as a portion of a 
church or monastery. He supposes that after the thirteenth cen- 
tury the Northmen gradually intermixed with the aborigines, as 
was the case at a later period in Greenland, and that they lost 
all traces of the civilization they had inherited from their ances- 
tors, and the connection with the mother-country was forgotten. 



416 



TPOlasbinGton Cit^ jf ort^ l^ears Uqo 

As a nation, we are generally, and with truth, considered a 
vain rather than a proud people, morbidly sensitive to the opin- 
ions and criticisms of our European neighbors ; the distinction be- 
tween vanity and pride being, that while the one restlessly desires 
and seeks the good opinion of the world, the other is satisfied 
with the consciousness of deserving it. But, more than else- 
where, at our seat of government, the true American finds his 
national vanity elevated into national pride. It is true he may 
miss the magnificence of European capitals, the conventional ele- 
gance of European courts ; but he walks through the wide ave- 
nues and the spacious edifices of Washington with a feeling of 
possession and ownership that could be felt in no other country, 
although he may not claim the title-deeds to an acre of the broad 
lands of which it is the center. When he enters the legislative 
halls, where the talent of the country, from Maine to California, 
is assembled, to execute the will of that body of which he forms 
a part, that hackneyed phrase, " the sovereign people," assumes a 
new significance — a majesty that reflects directly upon himself, 
and he feels a new consciousness of the dignity of his manhood 
and of the responsibility of his position as an American citizen. 
And well he may ; for in our country a new field opens, and 
humanity here takes a new stand, fettered by no antiquity, borne 
down by no hereditary aristocracy. While other nations have 
gradually emerged from barbarism, ours has begun her career in 
the meridian sun of European civilization. With the broadest 
principles of freedom for the foundation of our government — 
with a people springing from the fusion of many races, and whose 
energies are as inexhaustible as the resources of the country they 
inhabit, — it would seem that here the human mind is destined 
27 417 



Bnnc C. X. JBotta 

to develop its highest powers, and that, while on one side its 
influence will roll back upon the tottering monarchies of Europe, 
on the other its advancing tide of freedom and civilization will 
stretch across the Pacific to the shores of Asia, and pour upon 
them its fertilizing flood. What the Roman Empire was to the 
ancient world, our republic seems destined to become to the 
modern ; and well may the American citizen emulate the Roman 
in his patriotism ; well then may he be proud, for with so noble 
a country national pride is neither a weakness nor a fault. 

The capital of our country is often singularly misjudged — 
both by foreigners, who contrast it with the centralized capitals 
of Europe, and by ourselves, to whom its "magnificent dis- 
tances" seem to imply an absence of the enterprise and com- 
merce which constitute the life of all our other cities. But the 
great founders of our republic wisely designed it only for the po- 
litical center of the country, to be far removed from the disturbing 
influences that agitate great capitals abroad ; and growing, as it 
necessarily must, only by the reflected growth of the whole 
country, it may be considered a type of the Union in the gran- 
deur of its plan and the incompleteness with which it is as yet 
carried out. In Pennsylvania Avenue, which is the main artery 
of the city, and crowded with continuous blocks of buildings, 
only fifty years ago the sportsman started the partridge and 
woodcock from a swamp overgrown with underbrush ; and the 
fifty years to come will doubtless make far greater changes in the 
external aspect of the city. Like America, Washington must be 
judged only by looking to its future — the great future which we 
of this generation are destined to see only with prophetic eyes. 

It is a singular circumstance that on the ground now occupied 
by the city of Washington, the neighboring Indian tribes for- 
merly met to deliberate, and here the flame of their council-fires 
ascended as they unsheathed their war-knives or smoked the pipe 
of peace. It is also an historical fact that as early as 1663 the 
city was laid out and called Rome, and the little stream that 
flows at the foot of Capitol Hill still retains its classical appella- 
tion of " the Tiber." 

When the seat of government was removed to Washington in 
418 



Selections from Iber Mrttlngs 

the year 1800, only one wing of the Capitol was built, and the 
whole surface of the city was covered with trees ; yet the dis- 
cerning eye could not fail to mark its great natural advantages 
of position, climate, and scenery, and to admire the wisdom that 
selected it for the capital of our republic. Now, while each 
year adds to its stability by new structures and noble monuments, 
it adds also to its historical associations, and renders less prob- 
able the sacrilegious idea of its removal. 

Standing on the shore of the broad and beautiful Potomac (or 
" River of Swans," as the name signifies in the original), sur- 
rounded by an amphitheater of hills, luxuriant with every variety 
of foliage, there are many points from which Washington pre- 
sents the most picturesque views, and its sites for suburban 
villas are unsurpassed even by those on the banks of the Hudson. 

About six miles from the city is Riversdale, the seat of Charles 
Calvert, Esq., the lineal descendant of Lord Baltimore; and 
nearer is Kalorama, built by Joel Barlow, after his return from 
France in the year 1805. Here he completed and first gave to 
the world his "Columbiad," at that time the most elegant vol- 
ume that had ever issued from the American press, and now the 
only American poem that aspires to the dignity of an epic. 
Here also he devoted himself to the collection of materials for a 
history of the United States — a department in which he would 
doubtless have been more successful, having himself been an 
actor in the scenes of the Revolution ; but in the midst of these 
pursuits he was appointed minister to France, and died, as is 
well known, on his way to visit the Emperor. His house at Kal- 
orama, the grounds he laid out, and the trees he planted, remain 
a pleasing monument to his memory. 

Arlington, the seat of G. W. P. Custis, Esq., occupies an 
elevation of about three hundred feet above the river, on the 
Virginia side, and commands a view of Washington, George- 
town, and the whole surrounding country. Mr. Custis himself, 
the last survivor of the family of Washington, seems to form a 
connecting-link between the past and present. It is an event in 
one's life to have seen and spoken with a man who, seated at 
the feet of Washington, has listened to his voice as it spoke to 

419 



2lnne C. X. JSotta 

him in the familiar tones of family intercourse, and whose mind 
is stored with incidents and anecdotes of the great men of that 
great age. Mr. Ciistis has great dramatic power in conversation ; 
and in describing so vividly the scenes and actions that have 
made our history illustrious, he carries us back to them more 
nearly than any written narrative, even by himself, could do. 
The plate of Washington, and many curious and interesting 
relics, are in the possession of Mr. Custis. Among them is a 
picture, designed and executed by the wife of the first ambassa- 
dor from Holland, and presented by her to General Washington. 
The scene represents the cave of the Fates, who are weaving the 
thread of the hero's destiny. As Atropos approaches with her 
fatal scissors, Immortality descends, and seizing the thread, bears 
it away to distant ages. The lines accompanying this ingenious 
design, also by the same lady, are the following: 

In vain the Sisters ply their busy care, 
To reel off years from Glory's deathless heir : 
Frail things may pass — his fame can never die, 
Rescued from fate by Immortality. 

Mr. Custis has also in his possession a model of the Bastile, 
carved from one of the stones, after its destruction, and sent a 
present to Washington by Lafayette ; and accompanying it was 
the veritable key of the Bastile, which still hangs in the hall at 
Mount Vernon, calling up, in the sanctuary of freedom, dark 
pictures of the mystery, the crime, and the suffering that it 
locked in the cells and dungeons of that stronghold of tyranny. 

Many anecdotes told by Mr. Custis, of Washington and of his 
father and mother, seemed almost to bring us into their august 
presence. Of the theory that the character of the child depends 
mainly on that of the mother, the history of Washington affords 
a striking illustration ; and who shall say that if more American 
women made his mother the model of their lives, their sons 
would not more resemble hers ? The mingled reverence and 
love with which she inspired all who came within the sphere 
of her influence, the blended dignity and grace of her manner, 
the firm will and the mild expression of it, — above all, that ele- 

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Selections from Iber lUlritincis 

vation and nobility of character, that circumstances could no 
more give than they could take away, — the possession of all these 
qualities rendered her fit to be the mother of such a son. Hav- 
ing been separated from her during the whole period of the war, 
after the surrender at Yorktown, he hastened to join her at Fred- 
ericksburg. She received him with that calm approval that 
expressed no surprise at his splendid career, but which conveyed 
the far higher praise of his having only fulfilled her expectations. 
Lafayette said of the mother of Washington, that she belonged 
to the Roman matrons of the best days of the republic. On his 
first presentation to her, he found her in her morning-dress attend- 
ing the flowers in her garden ; but with the air of one conscious 
that her dignity did not depend on her garments, she advanced 
to meet him, and said : "Marquis, I wish not to pay you the 
poor compliment of making my toilet before I bid you welcome 
to my house." 

The public buildings, of course, constitute one of the most 
important external features of Washington ; and it is to be re- 
gretted, as much on the score of convenience as of effect, that 
they are so scattered and often on such ill-chosen sites. Through 
a wholly mistaken economy, the Capitol and almost all the pub- 
lic edifices are built of a sandstone found in the vicinity, which 
is incapable of resisting the action of the atmosphere, and the 
cost of the paint required to preserve it equals that of erecting 
new walls every thirty years. The error has been at last per- 
ceived, and the wings to the Patent Office, and the additions to 
the Capitol now being erected, are of pure white marble. 

As the public taste improves, more liberal ideas direct the 
legislation which has hitherto seemed to reverse the principle 
that prevailed in the republics of Greece and Rome, where, ac- 
cording to Gibbon, " the modest simplicity of private houses 
announced the equal condition of freemen ; while the sovereignty 
of the people was represented in the majestic edifices destined for 
public use." One of our own writers on this subject says : " With 
us it is the people alone whose sovereignty is constant and un- 
changeable. But what manifestation have we of their power, 
written in that eternal alphabet of stone and marble, which has 
27* 42 1 



2lnnc C. X. JBotta 

preserved the memory of Egyptian kings and Roman emperors? 
Where are the resplendent temples in which their representatives 
make the laws and their judges administer them ? Where are the 
magnificent halls in which their youth are instructed under the 
tutelary care of the State ? Where the spacious galleries of art 
maintained by the public treasure for the public good ? Where 
are the parks as spacious as those of London, the fountains as 
superb as those of Versailles ? Are kings to have their pleasure- 
grounds and palaces, and not the people theirs also?" Before 
many years have passed away these questions may be in some 
measure answered ; and we may point to the Capitol enlarged 
and beautified, to the National Park, and to the Monument, 
higher than the pyramids, as at least more in accordance with 
the dignity of the nation, and more worthy of its capital. 

The Capitol of the United States stands on an eminence, about 
one mile east of the Potomac, overlooking the whole surrounding 
country. The corner-stone was laid in the presence of General 
Washington, in the year 1793. The building was suspended 
during the War of 1812, at which time both wings were des- 
troyed by the enemy ; and it was not entirely completed until 
1827. The length of the building is three hundred and fifty- 
two feet, and it covers an area of one and a half acres. The 
columns of the eastern front compose a portico of one hundred 
and sixty feet in length, surmounted by a tympanum embellished 
with a colossal group of statuary, designed by John Quincy Adams, 
then President, and offered by him after forty designs had been 
rejected. It represents the Genius of America, attended by Jus- 
tice and Hope, bearing the scroll of the Constitution. Two 
statues, nine feet in height, representing Peace and War, stand 
in the niches on either side of the entrance. The east and west 
fronts both lead to the Rotunda, which occupies the whole 
center of the building, and is nearly one hundred feet in height, 
and of the same diameter. The panels of this magnificent hall 
are appropriated to historical paintings, and four sculptures in 
bas-relief, which were executed by pupils of Canova. The paint- 
ings by Colonel Trumbull are remarkable for their historical ac- 
curacy. The artist, as is well known, was aide-de-camp to 

422 



Selections from fbct Wvitime 

General Washington, and afterward deputy adjutant-general un- 
der General Gates. He early resolved to cultivate his talents for 
painting in order that he might become the delineator of the 
heroic scenes in which he took part. After the close of the war 
he continued his studies abroad ; and on his return, he visited 
various parts of the country from New Hampshire to Carolina, 
and completed his collection of portraits and views of places. 
In 1816 Congress passed a resolution authorizing him to paint 
the four pictures that adorn the walls of the Rotunda, and which 
are the Declaration of Independence, the Surrender of Burgoyne, 
the Surrender of Cornwallis, and the Resignation of Washington. 
The heads in these pictures are mostly from life. There are 
besides these, three other pictures: the Embarkation of the Pil- 
grims, by Weir; the Baptism of Pocahontas, by Chapman; and 
the Landing of Columbus, by Vanderlyn. 

The House of Representatives, occupying the south wing of the 
Capitol, has the distinction of being the most badly constructed 
hall for public speaking known in any country. At certain 
points, a whisper scarcely audible to the ear into which it is 
breathed, is distinctly heard at some remote extremity, while, at 
others, the voice of the loudest speaker seems lost in vacuum. 
Political and other secrets are thus discovered, and eloquence is 
often wasted on the empty air. The hall is built in the form of the 
ancient Grecian theater, with the dome, which is sixty feet in 
height, supported by columns of variegated marble. Above the 
speaker's chair is a colossal figure of Liberty, and in front and im- 
mediately over the entrance is a beautiful statue in marble, rep- 
resenting History, in a winged car, traversing the globe, on 
which are figured the signs of the zodiac, and the wheel of the 
car constitutes the face of a clock. The whole design is full of 
significance, the visible personification of a great truth. While 
the hours roll on. History, in her winged car, is indeed there to 
record the thoughts that are uttered, and to bear them over the 
world that listens for them anxiously, but with hope and faith. 

The Senate Chamber, which is in the north wing of the Cap- 
itol, is poor and meager in design, and although in some respects 
similar to the House of Representatives, is of much smaller di- 

423 



Bnne C. %. JBotta 

mensions. The galleries are accessible only through dark and 
narrow passages, and are wholly destitute of elegance, comfort, 
and ventilation. Beneath the Senate Chamber is the Supreme 
Court room, an apartment entirely inappropriate to the dignity 
of this high tribunal. The Congressional Library, consisting of 
fifty thousand volumes, recently destroyed by fire, occupied the 
western front of the main body of the Capitol, and afforded one 
of the most pleasant resorts in the city. The first library, se- 
lected under the direction of Mr. Gallatin and others, was burned 
by the English during the late war. Mr. Jefferson's library, 
afterward purchased, formed the nucleus of the one lately des- 
troyed, and his arrangement of the books was still preserved. 
Among the many valuable works, there were few that cannot 
be replaced ; but the new books and the new apartments, like 
new friends, will lack the charm of association, and thus fail 
wholly to supply the places of the old ones. 

The proposed addition to the Capitol is to be in the form of 
wings, north and south, projecting both east and west beyond 
the main building and connected with it by corridors, the three 
other sides of the wing being surrounded by a colonnade of a 
corresponding style of architecture. The new House of Repre- 
sentatives and Senate Chamber are each to be in the form of a 
parallelogram, which has been found best adapted to halls for 
public speaking. The work is under the direction of Mr. Walters, 
an able architect, and when completed, the whole building will 
cover four acres and a quarter. At present, the Capitol is in- 
closed within an area of forty acres. In the center of the space, 
on the eastern side, stands the colossal statue of Washington, by 
Greenough. This is a magnificent work of art, and not unworthy 
of any age. It is purely classical in its design, and hence it finds 
little favor with the strict admirers of modern art. The figure, 
which is in a sitting posture, if erect would be twelve feet in 
height, and is represented as holding a Roman sword in one 
hand, and pointing upward with the other. The design is not 
intended to commemorate any single action, but to express in 
marble the energy, the fortitude, the integrity, and the de- 
votion of which the character of Washington was the embodi- 

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Selections from fbcv mxitime 

ment and realization. The other sculptures of the Capitol have 
been executed by foreign artists ; but the names of Greenough, 
of Powers, of Crawford, of Mills, and a long list of others, both 
in painting and sculpture, indicate that the day has gone by 
when we must depend on Europe for our works of art. 

As wealth, intelligence, and refinement become more and more 
diffused among the people, they demand a more liberal expenditure 
from their representatives, as is seen by the large appropriations 
made at the last session of Congress for the enlargement of the 
Capitol and the extension of the public grounds. The grounds 
about the Capitol, disproportionate to its original size, would still 
less accord with its increased dimensions. The open waste, 
therefore, lying between the Capitol, the President's house, and 
the Potomac, is about to be converted into a National Park upon 
a plan proposed <by Mr. Downing, to whom we already owe such 
a national debt of gratitude for the taste and elegance he has in- 
troduced into the architecture of country residences. His name 
is synonymous, not only in this country, but abroad, with what- 
ever is tasteful, beautiful, and correct in landscape gardening and 
rural architecture, and the country can have no better guarantee 
of the excellency of the plan than to know that he conceived 
and is to execute it.i The area contains about one hundred and 
fifty acres, and the principal entrance is to be through a superb 
marble gateway, in the form of a triumphal arch, which is to 
stand at the western side of Pennsylvania Avenue, and which 
will form one of the most striking features that meet the eye of 
a stranger on entering the city. From this entrance a series of 
carriage-drives, forty feet wide, crossing the canal by a suspen- 
sion bridge, will lead, in gracefully curved lines, beneath lofty 
shade-trees, through the whole park to the gate at the other ex- 

1 Since this paragraph was written a frightful calamity, so fresh in 
the minds of the community that it need not be designated, has deprived 
the country of the invaUiable services of Mr. Downing. Standing, as 
he did, alone in his profession, without a rival or a competitor, his death, 
at the early age of thirty-seven, has left a vacancy that we seek in vain 
to fill. Although so young, he has exerted an unbounded influence on 
the pubhc taste, and there is scarcely a town or village in our country 
that has not some monument of his genius. 

425 



anne C. X. JBotta 

tremity. The carriage-drive, going and returning, will give a 
circuit of between five and six miles. The park will include 
within its area both the Washington Monument and the Smith- 
sonian Institution, which, with its fountains, pavilion, and sum- 
mer-houses, will give it an architectural and picturesque interest 
apart from its sylvan and rural beauties. Besides the most effec- 
tive groupings of trees and shrubs, the smooth lawns, em- 
bowered walks, and artificial lakes, Mr. Downing proposes to 
introduce another and higher feature in the National Park ; this 
is an arboretum, or scientific collection of trees, forming a kind 
of boundary plantation to the whole area, where will be at 
least one specimen of all the trees and shrubs that will grow 
in the climate of Washington. It is especially his intention 
to plant specimens of every American tree that belongs to our 
widely extended sylva ; and each, marked with its popular and 
scientific name, and the part of the country from which it has 
been obtained, will thus be made to convey instruction in a form 
as novel as it is agreeable. To enliven the winter landscape, the 
park will be largely planted with evergreens. The transformation 
of this marshy and desolate waste into a National Park has been 
already begun, but it will probably not be completed for four or 
five years to come — even with all the aid that the advanced 
science of the day affords for preparing the soil and transplanting 
nearly full-grown trees. 

After the Capitol, the next object of attention is the President's 
mansion ; and to not a few of our aspiring fellow-citizens it has 
even a higher interest. It is about one mile west of the Capitol, 
forty or fifty feet above the level of the Potomac, which spreads 
out its calm waters before the southern front. The east room, 
the principal apartment, is magnificent in its proportions, and, 
like other parts of the house, is not wanting in mere furniture; 
for the entire absence of all works of art and taste gives to the 
whole house more the air of a great hotel than the residence 
of the chief magistrate of a nation where painting and sculpture 
are beginning to be appreciated and encouraged. The only work 
of statuary to be seen here is a bust placed conspicuously in the 
entrance hall, but whom it is intended to immortalize no one 

426 



Selections from Der Mrltlngs 

appears to know. Our legislators do not apparently remember 
that it is the arts, not less than the arms, the laws, and the in- 
stitutions of a country, that make it illustrious. Phidias and 
Praxiteles have added a luster to the glory of Greece not less than 
Solon, Lycurgus, and Aristotle, and the creations of Da Vinci, 
Michelangelo, and Raphael would, of themselves, make Italy 
immortal, had she no other remembrances of the past. Take 
from her the splendor that the arts shed upon her, and her 
glory would be departed. The discomforts of the White House 
at that period are described in the following extracts from letters 
written by Mrs. John Adams, the wife of the President of that 
name: 

MRS. ADAMS TO MRS. SMITH. 

Washington, November ad, 1800. 
In the city are buildings enough, if they were compact and finished, 
to adcommodate Congress and those attached to it ; but as they are, I 
see no great comfort for them. The river, vtrhich runs up to Alexandria, 
is in full view of my window, and I see the vessels as they pass and re- 
pass. The house is upon a grand and superb scale, requiring about 
thirty servants to attend and keep the apartments in proper order, and 
perform the ordinary business of the house and stables ; an establish- 
ment very well proportioned to the President's salary. The lighting of 
the apartments, from the kitchen to the parlors and chambers, is a tax 
indeed ; and the fires we are obliged to keep, to secure us from daily 
agues, is another very cheering comfort. To assist us in this great 
castle, and render less attendance necessary, bells are wholly wanting, 
not one single one being hung through the whole house, and promises 
are all you can obtain. This is so great an inconvenience, that I know 
not what to do or how to do. The ladies from Georgetown and in the 
city have many of them visited me. Yesterday I returned fifteen visits ; 
but such a place as Georgetown appears ! Why, our Milton is beautiful. 
But no comparisons; — if they will put me up some bells, and let me 
have wood enough to keep fires, I design to be pleased. I could content 
myself almost anywhere three months ; but surrounded with forests, 
can you believe that wood is not to be had, because people cannot be 
found to cut and cart it ! Briesler entered into a contract with a man to 
supply him with wood. A small part, a few cords only, has he been able 
to get. Most of that was expended to dry the walls of the house before 
we came in, and yesterday the old man told him it was impossible for 
him to procure more cut and carted. He has had recourse to coals ; but 

427 



%nnc C. %. asotta 

we cannot get grates made and set. We have indeed come into a 
" new country." 

You must keep this to yourself, and, when asked how I like it, say 
that I write you the situation is beautiful, which is true. The house is 
made habitable, but there is not a single apartment finished, and all 
withinside, except the plastering, has been done since Briesler came. 
We have not the least fence, or yard, or other convenience without; 
and the great unfinished audience-room I make a drying-room of, to 
hang up the clothes in. The principal stairs are not up, and will not be 
this winter. Si.x chambers are made comfortable ; two are occupied by 
the President and Mr. Shaw ; two lower rooms, one for a common parlor, 
and one for a levee room. Up-stairs there is the oval room, which is 
designed for the drawing-room, and has the crimson furniture in it. It 
is a very handsome room now ; but when completed, it will be beautiful. 
If the twelve years in which this place has been considered as the future 
seat of government, had been improved as they would have been if in 
New England, very many of the inconveniences would have been re- 
moved. It is a beautiful spot, capable of every improvement, and the 
more I view it, the more I am delighted with it. 

MRS. ADAMS TO MRS. SMITH. 

Washington, November 21, 1800, 
. . . Two articles we are much distressed for; one is bells, but the 
more important one is wood. Yet we are surrounded with trees. No ar- 
rangement has been made yet, but promises never performed, to supply 
the new-comers with fuel. Of the promises, Briesler had received his full 
share. He had procured nine cords of wood ; between six and seven of 
that was kindly burnt up to dry the walls of the house, which ought to have 
been done by the commissioners, but which, if left to them, would have 
remained undone to this day. Congress poured in, but shiver, shiver. 
No woodcutters or carters to be had at any rate. We are now, through 
the first clerk in the Treasury office, indebted to a Pennsylvania wagon 
to bring us one cord and a half of wood, which is all we have for 
this house, where twelve fires are constantly required, and where, we 
are told, the roads will soon be so bad that it cannot be drawn. Briesler 
procured two hundred bushels of coals, or we must have suffered. This 
is the situation of almost every person. The public officers have sent 
to Philadelphia for woodcutters and wagons. . . . The ladies are im- 
patient for a drawing-room ; I have no looking-glasses but dwarfs for 
this house ; nor a twentieth part lamps enough to light it. 

In the open square, opposite the President's house, is about 
to be placed the equestrian statue of Jackson, in bronze. This 

428 



Sclectione from Iber Mritincis 

work is remarkable not only for its excellence, but from the 
fact that it is the first piece of statuary of any magnitude in 
this material that has ever been cast in this country. The 
artist, Mr. Mills of Charleston, previously known only as the 
sculptor of a bust of Mr. Calhoun, and some others, when ap- 
plied to by the committee to furnish a model for this work, 
declined to do so, feeling himself incompetent to the task, 
having never even seen an equestrian statue. But, haunted 
by the idea, he commenced the design, and after some months 
of labor, submitted a model to the committee, which was at 
once adopted. It was said by all connoisseurs that it would 
be impossible to cast such a statue in this country, and the 
price offered by the committee did not warrant its being done 
abroad. Mr. Mills, nothing daunted by the difficulties in 
his way, with true American enterprise and energy, set about 
removing them. He remembered that when a boy he had seen 
a heavy iron chain melted when by accident exposed to the heat 
of a coal-pit, and on this suggestion he constructed a furnace, 
and found it entirely successful. With less than half a cord of 
pine-wood he melted sixteen hundred pounds of metal. Leaving 
his valuable invention to be perfected at some future time, he 
has gone on with his work, which is now nearly completed. 
The whole group is entirely sustained by the two legs of the 
horse upon which it rests, an experiment which has never be- 
fore been tried in any similar work. The figure of Jackson, in 
• this statue, if erect, would be eight feet in height, and the whole 
is cast of the bronze of condemned cannon. This production of 
Mr. Mills, executed under so many disadvantages, as well as 
many other works of our native artists, indicate that a talent for 
sculpture is one of the peculiar gifts of our countrymen, and 
that the time is not far distant when our public edifices and 
squares will be peopled by these bronze and marble resem- 
blances of our great and good, which, though mute, will yet 
speak and awaken in the youth of our country a purer patriotism 
and a higher virtue. 

The Departments of State and of War, near the President's 
house, are wholly unworthy of notice in any architectural point 

429 



annc C. %. JBotta 

of view, and not being fireproof, they wait only the accident of 
being burned down, as the other departments have successively 
been, with all their valuable records, in order to be substantially 
rebuilt. For the members of the Cabinet the government has 
as yet provided no residences, and as the private houses of Wash- 
ington are generally very small, they afford the most inadequate 
accommodations for the entertainments these officers are expected 
by the public to give, and convey the idea of national poverty 
not at all belonging to the country. But what Congress had 
failed to do, the public spirit of a citizen of Washington is 
about to effect. Mr. Corcoran, the banker, so well known for 
his extensive charities and his liberal patronage of the arts, 
has proposed to build a certain number of residences for mem- 
bers of the Cabinet, in keeping with the dignity of the office, 
and to transfer them to the government at their actual cost. 
Should this proposal be accepted, this very desirable work will 
be soon accomplished, and the time seems to have come when 
it cannot longer be delayed. Every year Washington is be- 
coming more an intellectual and scientific, as well as a political, 
center, and its improvement and embellishment is now an object 
of national interest. 

The Treasury, notwithstanding its architectural faults and its 
unfavorable position, from its extent and the beauty of its Ionic 
columns, had an imposing air, which has been wholly destroyed 
by the paint with which it has recently been defaced, which, 
instead of being of a uniform shade, is of three distinct and in- 
appropriate colors. 

The General Post-office is a spacious and well-proportioned 
edifice of white marble, in the Italian style of architecture, and 
the Patent Office, in the Grecian Doric, is unsurpassed by any of 
the public buildings. Here are deposited all the models for 
which patents have been granted, the original Declaration of 
Independence, the camp-chest and a part of the wardrobe of 
Washington, the gifts presented to our naval and civil officers by 
foreign powers, pictures, busts, Indian portraits, the collections 
of the National Institute, and all the treasures of the exploring 
expedition under Commodore Wilkes. 

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Selections trom 1bct TUflrttings 

The National Observatory, recently established, and now under 
the able superintendence of Lieutenant Maury, is not less credit- 
able to the country in a scientific point of view than useful for 
the attainment of astronomical information. Besides the various 
instruments for determining the latitude and longitude of the 
stars, there is a large transit instrument which, in connection with 
the magnetic telegraph, will afford the readiest means of ascer- 
taining the exact longitude of any point, thus greatly increasing 
the accuracy of geographical knowledge. The principal object 
of interest, however, to the unscientific observer is the great 
equatorial telescope, arranged under the dome of the building, 
which moves with the slightest force, and enables the observer 
to turn the instrument in any direction. In one apartment of 
the Observatory all the chronometers are tested that supply our 
national vessels, and their exactness, when ready for use, has 
done much to render navigation more secure. A small equatorial 
instrument is mounted in the open air, and two comet-seekers 
are kept constantly employed in clear weather, watching for the 
approach of these wandering eccentricities. A meteorological 
register is kept with great minuteness and accuracy, and every- 
thing relating to astronomical science receives its full share of 
attention. 

About one mile from the Capitol, on the eastern branch of the 
Potomac, is the Navy Yard, probably the most complete and ex- 
tensive in the United States. Here chains and anchors are made 
for the largest ships, and a foundry has lately been erected for 
the heaviest castings necessary for government use. The Arsenal 
is at the junction of the eastern branch with the Potomac, sur- 
rounded on three sides by water. Here are foundries, work- 
shops, magazines, laboratories, and everything necessary to the 
preparation of the implements and munitions of war. 

Not far from the Navy Yard is the Congressional Burying 
Ground, where are many monuments inscribed with names fa- 
miliar to us on the page of history. Over the remains of every 
member of Congress is erected a plain white monument of pe- 
culiar form, and every year they dot more thickly the green 
foliage of this beautiful spot. This cemetery is indebted to na- 

43' 



Bnne C. X. JBotta 

ture only for its picturesque beauty, and art will have much to 
accomplish before it will compare with Mount Auburn, Green- 
wood, or the beautiful cemetery on the heights of Georgetown, 
which has just been completed at a cost of fifty thousand dollars, 
and presented to the city by Mr. Corcoran. This lovely dell is 
wooded with native forest-trees and laid out with great skill and 
taste ; an entrance lodge and a small stone chapel add much to 
its beauty. 

Near the Capitol is the office of the Coast Survey, one of the 
most important of the government works. The project for the 
survey of our thirty thousand miles of coast, which has been in 
operation since 1832, is probably more perfectly organized than 
that of any other country. The object is to form accurate maps 
of our extended seaboard, to ascertain the latitude and longitude 
of the principal points, the topography of the country parallel to 
the coast, the nature of the bottom of the sea accessible to the 
sounding-line, the position of bars, harbors, and channels, the 
direction and depth of currents, the declination of the magnetic 
needle, and every particular connected with the improvement of 
navigation and the defense of the coast. Upon their observations 
the most correct geographical maps are constructed. The charts 
exhibit the foundation of the bottom of the sea, specimens of 
which are collected, and which not only serve as indications to 
the navigator, but are also of great interest to the naturalist, as 
they are found to contain organisms of great variety and minute- 
ness, showing that at different depths of the sea, as on land, 
distinct species have their places assigned them. The develop- 
ment of the laws which govern the distribution of these infusoria, 
by which an elevation or depression, however gradual, may be 
detected, will be found of great importance to the geologist. The 
charts of the Coast Survey, invaluable to our commerce, are 
copied by an ingenious application of the electrotype to the 
original plate, which remains almost unimpaired, and immedi- 
ately furnished to the public at a low cost. Among other dis- 
coveries that have signalized the progress of the Coast Survey, is 
that of a new channel, more straight and deep, into the harbor 
of New-York; sunken rocks have been indicated, the Gulf Stream, 

432 



Selections trom Iber TKaritings 

that remarkable phenomenon of our continent, has been explored, 
and new investigations made on a point of great scientific inter- 
est, the determination of a degree of latitude on different parallels, 
and deducing from this the figure of the earth. These and other 
observations have given to experimental science an impulse it 
has never before received ; and, under the able superintendence 
of Professor Bache, whose eminent attainments and discoveries 
.have enabled him to introduce improvements into every depart- 
ment of the work, it is still going on with energy and success, 
creditable alike to himself and his corps, and useful to the gov- 
ernment and the nation at large. Our revenue, as is well known, 
is derived mostly from merchant ships, and the loss of the duties 
upon four of them would actually cover the whole amount of 
the yearly appropriation for the Coast Survey, to say nothing of 
the loss of life, or the loss of time by ships having no accurate 
charts, being obliged to wait for pilots. 

In 1S29, James Smithson, Esq., a descendant of the Duke of 
Northumberland, died, leaving to the United States the sum of 
more than half a million of dollars, to found, under the name 
of the Smithsonian Institution, an establishment for the increase 
and diffusion of knowledge among men. Mr. Smithson was a 
gentleman of retired and studious habits, who devoted his atten- 
tion to the sciences, particularly that of chemistry, and among 
his personal effects preserved at the Patent Office are many small 
vessels for experiments upon the most minute scale, one of the 
subjects of his analysis having been a "lady's tear." By a law 
enacted in 1846, the President, Cabinet, and some other officers 
of the government, to have perpetual succession constitute the 
Smithsonian Institution, the immediate superintendence being 
given to a secretary. By the authority of these officers, constitut- 
ing the Board, a picturesque and stately pile has been erected, of 
red freestone, in the Norman or Romanesque style of architecture, 
comprising a library, lecture-room, museum, laboratories, and 
galleries of art. Its length is four hundred and fifty feet, and its 
breadth one hundred and forty. The office of the secretary is to 
take charge of the property of the Institution, to superintend its 
literary and scientific operations, and to give an annual report to 

^8 433 



Bnnc C. X. JQotta 

the regents. By a skilful management of the funds, the original 
amount not only remains unimpaired, but is considerably aug- 
mented, and the regents have resolved to divide the income 
into two equal portions, one to be devoted to the encouragement 
of original research, and the other to the foundation of a library, 
museum, and gallery of art. Under the first head several valu- 
able works have already appeared, or are now in press, and the 
library numbers about ten tliousand volumes. The gallery of art. 
contains the choicest collection of engravings and books on art 
in the country, comprising some of the best works of nearly 
every engraver of celebrity, such as the engravings of Albert 
Diirer, the etchings of Claude Lorraine, Rembrandt, and others. 

Professor Henry, who holds a position of the highest eminence 
in the scientific world, has filled the office of secretary of the 
Institution since its establishment, and it is gratifying to know 
that it could not be more ably filled. In his profound researches 
on the subject of electro-magnetism, he was the first to develop 
the principle of immense magnetic force, and to apply it to the 
moving of a machine. In his experiments on the transmission 
of electrical currents through long wires, he pointed out the 
applicability of the result to the telegraph, and the publication 
of these papers in this country and in Europe was the immediate 
precursor of the invention of the present system of telegraphing. 
Professor Henry has constructed a thermal telescope, by which 
the heat of bodies may be made perceptible at the distance of 
miles, and he has discovered that two rays of heat may be so 
combined as to produce a diminution of temperature or compara- 
tive cold. His experiments on the phosphorogenic emanation of 
the sun, or that which produces the glow of the diamond in 
the dark, after its exposure to tlie solar rays, and on the heat 
of the spots on the sun, are of the highest interest. 

Professor Jewett, the assistant secretary of the Institution, has 
in his last report submitted to the Board of Regents a plan for 
forming a general catalogue of American libraries, which prom- 
ises to lead to very important results. As most libraries are 
constantly increasing, the continual rearranging and reprinting 
of the catalogues becomes at last, even in our national establish- 

434 



Selections from 1ber 'Wflrltmaa 

merits, an intolerable burden, and all the large libraries of Eu- 
rope have been driven to the necessity of printing none at all. 
Professor Jewett proposes to stereotype all titles separately, and 
to preserve the plates in alphabetical order, so as readily to in- 
sert additional titles in their proper order. By these means the 
great cost of republication — that of composition, revision, and 
correction of the press — would be avoided, and difficulties that 
have discouraged librarians, and involved such enormous ex- 
penses, would be overcome. The importance of the Smithsonian 
Institution in the center of our country, and the benefits it will 
confer, have not yet been truly estimated. Science, literature, 
and art will concentrate here ; and in the enlightened encour- 
agement they will receive, they will diffuse their radiance over 
the whole length and breadth of the land, and the political 
center of our country will thus become, as it should be, the seat 
of learning and the arts. It is a significant fact that a descendant 
of one of the most renowned families in England should have 
chosen this country as the field wherein his great idea should 
germinate and expand, and it was in a prophetic spirit that he 
has somewhere expressed his belief that his name would be re- 
membered when that of the Percys was forgotten. Their con- 
quests were on the field of battle; those won by his munificence 
will be in the regions of thought, of wisdom, and of beauty: 
their victories were for one generation ; his will be for all time. 
About midway between the Capitol and the President's house 
stands the national monument erected to the memory of Wash- 
ington. As yet it has reached the elevation of only about one 
hundred feet. It is to be constructed of granite encased in mar- 
ble, and the height is to be six hundred feet. The base is to 
consist of a grand circular temple, two hundred and fifty feet in 
diameter and one hundred in height, from which springs the 
obelisk, seventy feet square at the base, and five hundred in 
height. The spacious gallery of the rotunda at the base of the 
column is designed to be the Westminster Abbey, or the Na- 
tional Pantheon, to contain statues of the heroes of the Revo- 
lution, and pictures to commemorate their victories, while the 
space beneath is intended as a place of burial for those whom the 

435 



Bnne C. X. JSotta 

nation may honor by an interment here ; and in the center of 
the monument are to be placed the remains of Washington. 
Each State has been invited to furnish a block of native marble 
with the name and arms of the State inscribed upon it. The 
temple base, in the plan of the monument, has been objected to 
by artists and architects, and it is possible that the design may 
be somewhat modified. The whole cost of this structure, it is 
estimated, will not much exceed one million of dollars, and this 
is to be collected by the voluntary gift of the people for the 
erection of the noblest monument ever raised by the gratitude 
of man. It will exceed the Pyramids in height, as it will far 
transcend them and all the monuments of antiquity in the moral 
grandeur of the sentiment that rears it, and the character it com- 
memorates. The Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, in his address on the 
laying of the corner-stone, in 1848, says: "Build it to the skies, 
you cannot outreach the loftiness of his principles ; found it upon 
the massive and eternal rock, you cannot make it more enduring 
than his fame ; construct it of the peerless Parian marble, you 
cannot make it purer than his life; exhaust upon it the rules 
and principles of ancient and modern art, you cannot make it 
more proportionate than his character." At present there are 
some fears expressed that the contributions will not be sufficient 
to carry on the work, and that to another generation will be- 
long the glory of completing it. 

About fourteen miles from Washington, washed by the waters 
of the Potomac, is Mount Vernon, the Mecca of the New World; 
a spot of profound interest not only to every American, but 
strangers from all parts of the world turn aside to visit the hal- 
lowed ground, and ships from foreign lands reverently lower 
their flags as they pass by. The shadow of the departed whose 
ashes repose here seems to lie on all around ; a spirit whispers 
in every breeze, and a spell is written on every leaf. The house 
itself is a vestige of former days, and its wainscoted halls, its 
spacious and hospitable dining-hall, the library, and every ob- 
ject within and around is instinct with the noblest associations. 
Here is the bust of Washington, cast from the living model by 
Houdon in 1785, and although smaller than those usually seen 

436 



Selections trom Ibec TlClrltings 

of Washington, it is by far the most majestic head that art has 
preserved. 

Mount Vernon was built by the elder brother of Washington, 
and named by him after Admiral Vernon, under whom he had 
served. It is beautifully situated on the banks of the Potomac, 
the lawn before it sloping gradually down to the river, the bank 
of which is densely wooded with venerable trees, except an oc- 
casional opening, where, through the green vistas, the broad and 
shining river is seen flowing beneath. Not many rods from the 
house is the tomb in which stands the sarcophagus containing 
the remains of Washington. It is simple and almost without 
inscription ; but the inscription is written on the hearts of his 
countrymen, and " We read his history in a nation's eyes." 

The society of the city of Washington has peculiar features 
which distinguish it from that of any other in the Union. It 
is certain that, whatever the political institutions of our country 
may be, its social organization is far from being democratic. 
Every town and village has its exclusive circle, composed of those 
who from wealth, family, or fashion assume, with more or less 
absurdity, to be the aristocracy of the place. At Washington, 
on the contrary, the President and ofiFicers of the government, 
holding their positions directly from the people, owe, even to the 
humblest of them, a certain allegiance, and it is the tacit admis- 
sion of this that gives to the society of the capital such entire 
freedom from all constraint and formality, and renders it the 
only truly and practically democratic city, not only in the Union, 
but in the world. In the capitals of other countries the stranger 
is impressed only with the power and the majesty of the gov- 
ernment, everywhere forced upon him by the pomp and cir- 
cumstance with which it surrounds itself, and the deference it 
demands ; while in that of our own he feels only the sovereignty 
of the people, of whom the government is absolutely and liter- 
ally the servant. In other cities in our own country, " the best 
society," as it is called, and often justly, is hedged round by so 
many conventionalities that it is almost inaccessible to those 
who are without its charmed circle ; but here, the President and 
Cabinet open their doors to all, and all meet on the same social 

=8* 437 



nnnc C. X. JiSotta 

plane ; not that distinctions are not felt here more, perhaps, 
than elsewhere, but the distance with which one towers above 
another is the result of native superiority alone, and not of arti- 
ficial props. As a natural consequence, character soon finds its 
level, and receives its just appreciation. The fact that one is a 
governor, a judge, a millionaire, or a leader of fashion, at home, 
where these qualifications give him standing, avails him nothing 
here, and he inevitably falls into the place which nature, and 
not adventitious circumstance, assigns him. It is found that 
this peculiar atmosphere of Washington affects astonishingly all 
who come under its influence ; and the magnate of the town or 
city, at home so unapproachable and so tenacious of his position, 
here, finding how little his factitious advantages avail him, 
suddenly becomes affable, genial, and courteous to all. Hun- 
dreds of people, not only members of the government, but tem- 
porary residents, thus brought together from all parts of the 
Union, and tried by this new standard, cannot fail to compose 
a society of the most striking and original elements, and incom- 
parably superior to any other that our country affords. In this 
social collision, sectional prejudices wear off, and the East and 
West, the South and North, thus brought into closer intimacy, 
become cemented by more enduring ties. As "the king never 
dies," so the government never ceases, but it is constantly 
changing its officers, and it is this perpetual change that gives 
to Washington all the gaiety and abandon of a great watering- 
place, without its accompanying frivolity. 

Another characteristic feature of social life in Washington is, 
that here men and women take their proper places as leaders of 
society, while in our country generally, it is mostly given up 
to the young and unmarried of both sexes, the fathers often ab- 
senting themselves entirely, and the mothers merely fulfilling the 
duty of matronizing their daughters. This circumstance alone 
would give a higher tone to society here, even if it were not, 
as it is, composed of the most brilliant talent in the country. 

The President's reception, or levee, which takes place one even- 
ing of every week during the season, is open to all, and the 
President and the ladies of his family, after receiving their guests, 

438 



Selections from Iber IClritings 

mingle with tliem in the drawing-room. In this promiscuous 
assemblage we meet with representatives from every class of 
society and every State in the Union, with foreigners titled and 
untitled, citizens distinguished and undistinguished, and with 
characters, manners, and toilets equally diverse. In such a gath- 
ering one can scarcely fail to find amusement and interest. The 
hours of reception are limited from eight to ten o'clock, and no 
refreshments are offered, the chief magistrate thus setting an ex- 
ample of true republican simplicity. The members of the Cabinet 
also receive in the same general and unostentatious manner, al- 
though they are expected by the public to give other and more 
substantial entertainments, such as dinners and evening parties, 
and otherwise to maintain the dignity of the office in a manner 
not at all warranted by the salary ; and hence, without an in- 
come independent of that, a man can scarcely afford to accept a 
seat in the Cabinet, however he might desire the honor. 

The resident foreign diplomatic corps constitutes another inter- 
esting element in the society of Washington. Adopting the 
maxim of doing in Rome as the Romans do, they open their 
doors with little exclusiveness, and their entertainments are al- 
ways the most brilliant of the season. 

In conclusion, it may be repeated that it is only here that 
the great principles upon which our government is founded are 
fully and practically carried out in social life. Like the high 
officers of state, the high places of society are open to all ; and 
while the government has solved the great political problem, 
and demonstrated that men are competent to govern themselves, 
society has solved the great social problem, and shown that 
there is no natural or necessary alliance between democracy and 
vulgarity. 



439 



poctri?' 



INDIAN SUMMER 

O SWEET, sad autumn of the waning year, 
Though in thy bowers the roses all lie dead, 
And from thy woods the song of birds has fled, 

And winter, stern and cold, is hovering near ; 

Yet from thy presence breathes a holy calm. 
The fervid heats, the lightning storms, all past; 
A tender light o'er earth and sky is cast, 

And all thy solemn voices chant a psalm. 

Oh, Indian Summer, autumn of the soul, 
That no returning Spring shall visit more, 
Though all thy rose-hued morning dreams are o'er, 

And phantoms dread stand threat'ning at the goal, 
Yet are these days dear as e'en Summer knew ; 
These Sibylline leaves of life, so precious, since so few. 



TO THE UNKNOWN BUILDER OF THE 
CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE 

Unknown great Master ! whose creative thought 

Is here inscribed, though from Fame's shining scroll 

Thy name is lost, this wondrous dome is fraught 
With the expression of thy reverent soul. 

IThe last edition of Mrs. Botta's poems was published in 1881 by 
G. P. Putnam's Sons. 

440 



Selections from Iber Mrttinfls 

Immortal, in each curve and line inwrought ; 

As in the vast, harmonious, perfect whole : 
We see buttress, tower, and pinnacle that reach 

In forests of great columns, towering high, 
With deep grooved arches interlacing each, 

Lift their bold outlines dark against the sky. 
It rises like a vision in mid-air, indeed 

A temple meet for a divine abode ; 
The embodied symbol of man's highest creed; 

A symphony in stone ; a thought of God. 



TO CAPTAIN WEST, OF THE STEAMER ATLANTIC 

The gathering clouds around us lower, 

The tempest wildly raves, 
But fearlessly our noble ship 

The angry ocean braves, 
And buoyant as a sea-bird rides 

The crested mountain waves. 

The gale, the storm, the night may come, 

No fear disturbs the breast ; 
Our ship is strong, — our Captain brave, — 

And we securely rest. 
Long life to him and all his Line ! 

Health to the gallant West ! 

Pilgrims to many lands are we, 

And now our travel o'er 
Once more beneath the Stars and Stripes 

We near our native shore ; 
And since we parted from it last 

Who does not love it more ? 

1 This poem was written on her return from Europe in 1853. 
441 



anne C. %, JBotta 

Adieu, new friends and old, adieu ! 

May every wandering breeze 
That meets you on tlie Voyage of Life 

Be far less rude than these 
That our good ship has met so well 

Upon the wintry seas. 



LINES TO 

I THANK thee — not for that kind deed alone, 

Though deep within my heart the record lies, 
Engraved with those few pleasant memories, 

That like stray sunbeams on my life have shone: 
1 thank thee most for this — that when belief 

In human worth was darkening into doubt, — 
As one by one, I marked with bitter grief 

Those I had reverenced with a faith devout 
Turn recreant back upon their heavenward way 

And sink before me into common clay ; 
That thou dost come my faith to reassure, 

My wavering trust in goodness to restore, 
And bid my fainting hope take wing once more. 



SPRINGTIME 

Over the valleys and over the mountains, 

Borne on the wings of the south wind I come ; 

Breaking the ice-chains, unloosing the fountains. 
Waking all Nature to beauty and bloom. 

Flowers from the green turf in myriads are springing ; 

Zephyrs are faint with the perfume they bear ; 
While the voices of Earth, Air, and Ocean are singing. 

Hail to the springtime ! the youth of the year ! 
442 



Selections (com Ibec Meltings 

Oh, gather my rosebuds and sport in my bowers, 
Children of Earth, while my footsteps 1 stay. 

Wreathe with your garlands my vanishing hours, 
Which like life's sunny springtime are passing away. 



TO GEORGE PEABODY ' 

No Eastern tale, no annals of the past, 

Of Greece or Rome, deeds such as thine relate, 
Deeds kings and emperors might emulate, 

That o'er thy native land new luster cast ; 

The land that opens all her wide domain 

To the oppressed of every name and zone. 
And with a spirit generous as thine own. 

Pours forth the gifts her boundless stores contain ; 

The land that shall embalm thy memory 

In love and honor, while long ages hence 
The bounteous stream of thy beneficence, 

Bearing along to millions yet to be 

Tributes of light and love, its course shall run, 
Still widening as it flows, like the broad Amazon ! 



TO LAMARTINE 

A POET led me once, in chains of flowers, 
A pilgrimage beneath the Orient skies ; 

And there I dreamed I walked in Eden's bowers, 
And breathed the odorous airs of Paradise. 

He touched his harp, and when he sang of Love, 
Then all my heart was to the poet given ; 

For his sweet tones seemed echoes from above ; — 
Strains that breathed less of Earth than Heaven. 

1 This sonnet was read at the banquet given by the citizens of New- 
York to the great American philanthropist on March 22, 1867. 

443 



2lnnc C. X. asotta 

But when in majesty I saw him stand 
The sacred shrine of Liberty to guard ; 

The destinies of France within his hand, — 
Then in the hero I forgot the bard. 

Poet and hero, thus alternately, 

Would claim my homage, each with equal art. 
Allegiance I to neither could deny. 

So each by turns shared my divided heart. 



TO FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 

1' SEE the sons of genius rise 

The nobles of our land, 
And foremost in the gathering ranks 

I see the poet-band. 
That priesthood of the Beautiful 

To whom alone 't is given 
To lift our spirits from the dust. 

Back to their native heaven. 
But there is one among the throng 

Not passed his manhood's prime, 
The laurel-wreath upon his brow 

Has greener grown with time ; 
And in his eye yet glows the light 

Of the celestial fire. 
But cast beside him on the earth 

Is his neglected lyre. 
The lyre whose high heroic notes 

A thousand hearts have stirred 
Lies mute — the skilful hand no more 

Awakes one slumbering chord. 
O poet, rouse thee from thy dreams ! 

Wake from the voiceless slumbers, 
And once again give to the breeze 

The music of thy numbers. 

444 



Selections from Iber "Wttritings 

Sing! for our country claims her bards, 
Siie listens for thy strains ; 

Sing! for upon our jarring earth 
Too much of discord reigns. 



TO PETER COOPER 

The Pyramids of Egypt, even to-day 

The wonder of the world, stupendous stand 
In their material greatness, and defy 

Alike relentless Time and Libyan sand. 
But what great thought through those grim structures 

smiles? 
What Aspiration reared those wondrous piles? 
None, — save that kings, forgotten long ago, 
Might leave their worthless dust to waste below. 
This Shrine thou 'st reared to Science and to Art 

A nobler Thought than Egypt dreamed contains. 
And every stone speaks of a regal heart 

Benignant as the Nile to desert plains, 
When all the arid waste it overflows, 
And the parched shores grow green, and blossom as 
the rose. 



NIGHTFALL IN HUNGARIA 

As when the sun in darkness sets, 
And night falls on the earth. 

Along the azure fields above 
The stars of heaven come forth ; 

So, when the sun of Liberty 

Grows dim to mortal eyes, 
From out the gloom, like radiant stars. 

The world's true heroes rise. 

445 



anne C. X. asotta 

The men of human destiny, 
Whom glorious dreams inspire ; 

High-priests of Freedom, in whose souls 
Is shrined the sacred fire. 

The fire that through the wilderness, 

In steadfast luster gleams, 
That on the future dim and dark. 

Sheds its effulgent beams. 

Thus, O Hungaria ! through the night 
That wraps thee in its gloom, 

Light from one burning soul streams forth, 
A torch above thy tomb. 

Thy tomb! oh no — the moldering shroud 

The worm awhile must wear, 
Ere, from its confines springing forth, 

He wings the upper air. 

Thy tomb ! then from its door ere long, 

The stone shall roll away ; 
Thou shalt come forth, and once again 

Greet the new-risen day. 

That day, that prayed and waited for 

So long, shall surely rise, 
As surely as to-morrow's sun 

Again shall greet our eyes. 

What though, before the shade evoked. 
The coward heart has quailed, 

And when the hour, the moment came. 
The recreant arm has failed? 
446 



Selections from iber "Wllritlngs 

What though the apostate wields the sword 

With fratricidal hand, 
And the last Romans wander forth 

In exile o'er the land? 



What though suspended o'er thee hangs 

The Austrian's glittering steel ; 
What though thy heart is crushed beneath 

The imperial Cossack's heel? 

Not to the swift is given the race, 

The battle to the strong ; 
Up to the listening ear of God 

Is borne the mighty wrong. 

From him the mandate has gone forth, 

The Giant Power must fall ; 
Oh, prophet ! read'st thou not the doom. 

The writing on the wall ? 

The slaves of power, the sword, the scourge. 

The scaffold, and the chain. 
Awhile may claim their hecatombs 

Of hero-martyrs slain. 

But they that war with Tyranny 

Still mightier weapons bear ; 
Winged, arrowy thoughts, that pierce like light, 

Impalpable as air. 

Thoughts that strike through the triple mail, 

That spread, and burn, and glow, 
More quenchless than that fire the Greek 

Rained on his Moslem foe. 

447 



annc C. X. 3Botta 

Rest, rest in peace, heroic shades ! 

Whose blood Hke water ran ; 
For every crimson drop ye shed 

Shall rise an armed man. 



Rest, rest in peace, heroic hearts ! 

Who wander still on earth ; 
Thoughts, your immortal messengers, 

Are on their mission forth. 

The pioneers of Liberty, 

Invincible they throng ; 
They scale and undermine the towers 

And battlements of wrong. 

Speak ! sages, poets, patriots, speak ! 

And the dark pile shall fall. 
As at the prophet's trumpet blast 

Once fell the city's wall. 



TO CHARLES BUTLER' 

Thus, one by one, dear friend, the years flow by, 
That bear us onward to the silent land. 

And one by one, around us falling lie, 

The loved ones we have walked with, hand in hand. 

And thus, the hour comes swiftly, surely on ; 

1 see its shadow darkly toward us creep. 
When one shall go, and one be left alone, 

To bear life's chain, alone to wait and weep. 

1 For other poems dedicated to Mr. Butler see pages 12, 143. 
448 



Selections from Ibec "Warttings 

How sad, how dark, did not the heavenly stars, 
Twin stars of Faith, and Hope, rise on our way, 

To shed their luster through our prison-bars, 
To light our path on to eternal day ! 

That day that knows no cloud, no change, no night, 
Where tears, and pain, and sorrow, enter never. 

Where the beloved on earth again unite. 

Where one in God, they part no more forever. 



TO THE SAME 

Thy patron, good St. Valentine, 

Who lived so long ago, 
Watched only over happy hearts. 

As all true lovers know. 
But thou, born on his natal day, 

A truer saint 1 find ; 
While he alone the happy loved, 

Thou lovest all thy kind. 

Through all the sorrows, woes, and ills of life, 

That cloud our earthly road. 
Serene through discord, danger, storm, and strife. 

Thou seem'st to walk with God. 
And so thy gracious presence ever sheds 

A light as from above — 
A light that all thy being overspreads 

With Faith, and Hope, and Love. 



LIBERTY TO IRELAND 

A nation's birthday breaks in glory ; 

Songs from her hills and valleys rise, 
And myriad hearts thrill to the story 
Of Freedom's wars and victories. 
29 449 



anne C. X. JSotta 

When God's right arm alone was o'er her, 
And in his name the patriot band, 
With sacred blood baptized the land. 

And England's Lion crouched before her, 
Sons of the Emerald Isle ! 
She bids you rend the chain, 

And tell the haughty ocean queen 
Ye, too, are free-born men. 

Long had the world looked on in sorrow 

As Erin's sunburst set in night. 
Joy, joy ! there breaks a glorious morrow ; 

Behold a beam of morning light ! 
A ray of hope, her night redeeming! 

And she greets it, though there lower 

England's scaffold, England's tower ; 
And though hireling swords are gleaming, 

Wild shouts on every breeze 

Come swelling o'er the sea : 
Hark ! 't is her starving millions' cry : 

" Give Ireland Liberty ! " 



TO EMMA 

I LOOK within those deep, dark, lustrous eyes, 
And there I read thy heart's sweet mysteries ; 
There, like those lakes that mirror earth and sky, 
The lights and shadows of the future lie. 
For thee ambition has no clarion call ; 
Thou 'It seek no home in court, or princely hall, 
Where folly reigns, and the world's votaries throng 
To wile the hours with mirth, and dance, and song. 
Nor wilt thou seek to blazon high thy name, 
As woman may, upon the scroll of Fame. 
450 



Selections from 1bct mxitime 

But there 's an empire o'er which thou wouldst reign, 
Yet should thy subjects wear no despot's chain. 
It is the empire of the Heart. It shall be thine, 
And o'er it thou shalt reign by " right divine." 



TO ANNA 

For thee, the Sibyl in the future sees 

A lovely cottage hidden by the trees; — 

Round its white porch are trained the clustering vines ; 

Beneath its roof perpetual summer shines — 

The heart's sweet summer that shall take its dyes 

From the clear sunshine of thine azure eyes. 

The nightingale shall sing thee to thy dreams; 

The lark shall wake thee with morn's earliest beams ; 

The flocks and herds shall own thy gentle care ; 

All living things thy kind regard shall share. 

And as thou wanderest midst the lovely scene, 

The flowers shall claim thee for their fairy queen. 

And here, where Nature wears her loveliest spell, 

Shalt thou, her fairest work, serenely dwell ; 

Far from the world's " ignoble strife " and care, 

With some loved spirit "for thy minister," 

Thy life like some fair stream shall glide away, 

And thou shalt sleep, to wake in the Eternal Day. 



TO NETTIE 

Now has the spring her treasures all unbound, 
The earth has put her wedding-garment on, 

And, robed in light, with flowers and verdure crowned, 
Comes forth in joy to meet the bridegroom sun. 

451 



anne C. X. 3Botta 

Thou, too, in thy young life's first bloom and pride, 
Joyous as spring, fresh as the morning air, 

Fair as the flowers of May, comest forth a bride, 
And bowest thy head, Love's golden chain to wear. 

Were mine the power, thy course of life should be 
Serene and tranquil as the summer sky. 

No wintry blast should rudely visit thee, 
No tear of sorrow ever dim thine eye. 

And when that hour should come, as come it must, 
And thy long summer day draw to its close. 

Filled with immortal hope and heavenly trust 
Thou like the sun shouldst sink to thy repose. 

Vain wish, for cloudless skies, life without tears! 

A wiser, higher power controls thy fate. 
Sorrow and joy are each his ministers ; 

And each alike on human footsteps wait. 

Seek then his aid who was a man of grief, 

Who bore the cross and won a crown for thee, 

And thou shalt walk the troubled sea of life, 
As once he walked the Sea of Galilee. 



ON RECEIVING A PICTURE OF AN ITALIAN COUNTESS 

Oh lovely semblance of a lovelier face ! 

Upon thy classic contour as I gaze, 
My eager thought flies through dividing space ; 

And to the living picture tribute pays. 

I see that brow with thought and goodness crowned, 
1 see those eyes with deep affection shine ; 

I hear the language from those sweet lips sound, 
By poets made immortal and divine. 
452 



29* 



Selections from Iber "Wflritings 

I would that I might follow my free thought, 
And see this gentle stranger face to face ; 

For such fair spirits 1 have ever sought, 
And such would ever hold in my embrace. 



TO JULIETTE ON HER WEDDING-DAY 

When our first parents were from Eden driven 
To wander exiled in this world of care, 
Hope changed to fear, and memory to despair; 

But once, to their posterity 't is given 
The vision of that blissful home to share: 
Whene'er two wedded souls as one are bound, 
Then the lost Paradise again is found; 

But trifles light as air this dream dispel. 

And drive the hapless mortals forth disowned, 

In the cold air of common life to dwell. 

To-day for thee, these dreamland gates are riven ; 
Enter, and in its charmed precincts stay 
Till thy sweet life at last shall pass away, 

And thou shalt find it is not far to Heaven. 



TO JULIETTE'S TWINS 

Dear Catherine, and David too, 

How very sweet it was of you 

To telegraph that you were here, 

New-lighted on this lower sphere. 

That though unlooked /or, both had come. 

To bring into the earthly home 

The light and joy of Paradise 

That shine from your four infant eyes. 

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Bnne C. X. JSotta 

Your excellent and learned papa, 
Your beautiful and sweet mama, 
Must be most charmed to call you theirs ; 
Although you bring new fears and cares. 
Perhaps at night you Ml cry and roar, 
And they must wake, and walk the floor. 
You Ml have the measles and the mumps, 
The whooping-cough, the rash, the dumps. 

And all those things, so troublesome, 
That mortal children suffer from. 
Dear little pilgrims, just begun 
In this wide world life's race to run 
Upon life's rough and thorny road, 
Fresh from the fashioning hand of God ; 
Speed on the course, and win the prize, 
The prize most worthy in his eyes. 



TO MISS EDITH M. THOMAS 

Your Pegasus, Edith, is hitched to a star, 

While mine drags along a Sixth Avenue car ; 

Yours bears you away to the far empyrean, 

Mine carries me down through the quarters plebeian. 

Now, soaring aloft, you stop at Antares, 

Call it home, that 's the place for Penates and Lares ; 

Or back to old Greece with her heroes and gods, 

You get up a flirtation in sonnets and odes. 

(Though they hailed from Olympus, that classical spot, 

These "old parties," confess, were a pretty bad lot.) 

Then with dear Mother Nature you make very free 

To fathom her secrets of bird, flower, and tree ; 

To live with her ever on intimate terms, 

A freedom on your part, she always confirms, 

Although so exclusive she is with the rest of us, 

Never giving her password or key to the best of us. 

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Selecttons trom fbcv Writings 

But you have them both, and can seek at your pleasure 

Her most secret haunts, her most precious treasure ; 

And she calls you in accents as winning and mild, 

As some fond old grandmother calls a pet child. 

The round of my Pegasus lies through the town; 

He travels and travels, now up, and now down ; 

I pull on the strap, and he willingly stops, 

And leaves me to visit the markets and shops. 

(My car, you perceive, is the bobtail variety 

So little admired by the press and society.) 

But wherever we go he signally fails 

To lift me above the street levels and rails. 

So you see that our steeds are not matched for a race, 

And with all best endeavors can never keep pace. 



THE BRIDES OF INDRA 

Lo, 't is Indra ! he who kindles, God of celestial fire ; 
Who lights the thoughts of man with the flame of wild desire. 
Have you watched the changeful sky, crimson, amethyst, and gold ? 
'T is his mantle, and the stars shine from every beaming fold. 
He rides the snow-white elephant, lashed from the pale sea-foam. 
From his hand the rushing thunderbolt, the arrowy lightning 

come. 
Have you heard the shrieking east-wind when the trees were 

rent and strown. 
And the white salt dust of the sea in the face of heaven was 

blown? 
It is the wrath of Indra ; and the sunlight is his smile. 
When the clouds expire in raindrops, then Indra weeps the 

while. 
In his beauty, none like him the earth or heaven have had : 
With the wistful passion of a man, and the splendor of a god, 
He has thrilled the earth's dark places, a supernal flash of fire, 
He has sounded all the depths of guilt, and sorrow, and desire. 

453 



"Bnnc C. X. :©otta 

Now sinking in the struggle, now exalted soaring high, 
The dark, wild heart of man strives with his divinity, 
God of sunlight, God of storm, still the world his voice obeys, 
And the sea of human passion, his mighty power still sways, 

On its threshold, looking out on the changing world of life, 
With its movement and its crowd, its uproar and its strife, 
Stood a group of lovely maidens, charmed and dazzled by the 

glare. 
The gaze of Indra fell upon them, and beholding them so fair 
He loved them. Flashing earthward in a form of fire he came. 
Kissed their lips, and then he left them, with blanched cheeks, 

and eyes aflame. 
And they knew a god thus thrilled them ; and had sought his 

home again 
Ere they tasted aught of love, save its first and sudden pain. 
Then they, with vague desire, in their innocence went forth ; 
Seeking what, or whom, they knew not, they wandered o'er the 

earth ; 
And Love, who only breathes in the clearer, upper air, 
Led them to the hilly land, where the stars were shining near. 
And there, though far beyond them, looking down from cloudless 

skies, 
They saw the great god Indra, with outstretched arms and pas- 
sionate eyes. 
Then their hearts sank faint within them ; fain was each one to 

turn back. 
But the soul within had found its wings, and bore them rushing 

o'er the track. 
In a superhuman ecstasy, along the dizzy space. 
Till the arms of Indra clasped them in the fire of his embrace. 
All unconscious of the bitter cost to those to whom 't is given 
Thus to awaken the desire of the ardent sun of heaven. 
With quivering lips and beating hearts was the sacrifice achieved. 
And the sorrowful great gift — the love of Indra — they received. 
Bear me witness, O ye mortals, by the kiss of fire refined, 
How closely do the rapture and the anguish intertwine! 

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Selections from Ibcr llClrltlngs 

I know not which is greatest, for the bliss and suffering strain — 
Strain alike, and ail too fiercely, on the human heart and brain. 
Yet who would cage his soul, when the mighty sun-god came 
To thrill his being through, to draw his spirit forth in flame? 
But the maidens, knowing naught of an Immortal's love, 
Against the crown that Indra laid upon them, wildly, vainly 

strove ; 
Though it wrapped them in a glory, their young brows it scorched 

and tore, 
And its golden hues the life-blood of the wearers crimsoned o'er. 
"We are faint," they cried, "and weary; from our cheeks the 

blood has fled ; 
Our eyes are tired with beauty ; in our souls the youth is dead ; 
The light is but a splendid pain ; and, drooping, worn, and rent 
With this eternal rapture, our weary hearts are spent; 
We turn away in anguish, exhausted and oppressed. 
From this fever of our lives, give us rest, give us rest." 
They mourned thus until, at length, by resistless impulse led, 
From the mountain of Meru, the brides of Indra fled ; 
Fled and sought those shadowy valleys where the stream of time 

flows by 
Only measured by the seasons ; and the mortal dwellers die 
Of the slowly creeping years — not of sin, or shame, or wrong ; 
Not because they have lived too much, but because they 've lived 

too long. 



Oh, what a pleasant land was tiiat ! Surely there might peace be 

found. 
A sweet slumberous repose softly lay on all around. 
No extreme of heat or cold, excess of light or depth of gloom, 
Ever broke the wondrous calm of that wilderness of bloom. 
And the heartsof those that dwelt there, emotion ne'er could move. 
Or wake the slumbering ecstasies of hate, despair, or love. 
Ever young and ever lovely were the women of that land. 
And the men who ruled its councils were both courteous and 

bland. 

4S7 



Bnnc C. %, JBotta 

No labor there was needed, no hardened hand of toil, 

For all the heart could ask for sprang spontaneous from the soil. 

Old age, disease, and poverty, and suffering could not stay. 

For a dark and terrible river ever hurried them away. 

As it poured its troubled waters through the shining land of gold, 

Washing all its peaceful borders, muttering fiercely, as it rolled. 

Words of menace and despair through its sinister black flood, 

Which the smiling people on its banks heard, but never 

understood. 
Wretched, flying, worn, and weary, to this luxurious land 
Hither came these hapless wanderers, the fugitive fair band. 
Their strange beauty and their wanness, born of passions here 

unknown 
To the passionless who dwelt here, touched their hearts and 

they were won — 
Touched their hearts with sweet compassion for each lovely 

fugitive, 
And they cried, " Oh, stay here with us ; we '11 share with you, 

while we live." 



Now pale, and with lustrous eyes, wandering daily side by side. 
The once beloved of Indra in loneliness abide ; 
No friendly voices greet them as, dejected and apart, 
They pass the idle throng, slow of step and sad at heart. 
Each morning wakes anew a gnawing, fierce desire, 
That the evening, in despair and in misery, sees expire; 
And a curse pursues them ever like an avenging ghost- 
The curse that haunts and maddens, of a glory won and lost. 



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Selections from Ibec Meltings 



VIVA ITALIA ! 

Italia, in thy bleeding heart 

I thought e'en hope was dead ; 
That from thy scarred and prostrate form 

The spark of life had fled. 

I thought, as memory's sunset glow 

Its radiance o'er thee cast. 
That all thy glory and thy fame 

Were buried in the past. 

Twice Mistress of the world, I thought 

Thy star had set in gloom ; 
That all thy shrines and monuments 

Were but thy spirit's tomb — 

The mausoleum of the world, 

Where Art her spoils might keep ; 

Where pilgrims from all shrines might come, 
To wonder and to weep. 

But from thy deathlike slumber now, 

In joy I see thee wake ; 
And over thy long shrouded sky 

Behold the morning break. 

Along the Alps and Apennines 

Runs an electric thrill ; 
A golden splendor lights once more 

Each storied vale and hill. 

And hopes, bright as thy sunny skies, 

Are o'er thy future cast ; 
The future that upon thee beams. 

As glorious as thy past. 

4=10 



3finis coronat opus 




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